The Simple Life
by Evilution
Summary: Paris has to learn how to survive on her own-no credit cards or help from her parents. How will Randy Orton and the rest of Evolution play into her WWE adventure? Finished February 7, 2005.
1. Introducing Paris Ocean

The Simple Life  
By Evilution 

Disclaimer: All wrestling characters belong to the WWE. All references to Paris' parents are based on the movie Ocean's Eleven. I own Paris and Amanda. This story has nothing to do with Paris Hilton or the show The Simple Life-but the concept is similar. Rich girl pisses off her parents and gets cut off from the family fortune, gets sent to the WWE to learn what honest work is-you get the picture. Enjoy-Evilution.

Chapter 1-Introducing Paris Ocean

I wonder what he wants now, Paris Ocean thought as she hung up her cell phone and tossed it into her purse. She had just gotten off the phone with her father, but this time it wasn't one of his coma-inducing lectures. He simply said that he and her mother were on their way upstairs to her suite and that they were going to have a little chat. Paris shrugged absently. It was probably about her grades or more than likely, the American Express bill he undoubtedly just received. She had to admit that she had gone a little overboard at Gucci last month and the new pair of Manolo Blahniks she had just bought was a tad exorbitant, but it was no reason for her dad to have a complete meltdown, or to involve her mom for that matter. It wasn't like he didn't have the money.

Paris glanced out the window at the twinkling neon of the Las Vegas strip. The view from her penthouse on the top floor of the Bellagio was rivaled by none. Her spacious suite included a master bedroom with a double-size walk-in closet, a living room with a large screen TV and complete entertainment center, a small kitchen area, a study with a state- of-the-art laptop computer, printer, and fax, and last but not least, a full-size hot tub. The master bathroom could be described as nothing less than a religious experience-pristine and white, it was cleaned to a shine every day while Paris was either at school or shopping. Her every need and whim was catered to by nameless, faceless employees and had been since the day she was born. She was worth more than her namesake, Paris Hilton on her best day.

Paris' father was none other than Danny Ocean, former con man and grifter turned billionaire casino owner. Her mother, Tess, was an extremely beautiful and sophisticated art dealer, who ran all of the art galleries and museums in Danny's casinos and helped him manage day-to-day business. Those casinos included Paris' current residence-the Bellagio, as well as the Mirage and the MGM Grand. Danny had become a major stockholder at the MGM around 20 years ago when Paris was born. Eventually, he gained enough capital to take over the casino and a few years later, he realized his dream and built the Bellagio from the ground up. Only recently, he had acquired the Mirage when the owner had to declare bankruptcy as a result of outrageous insurance premiums over the Sigfried and Roy tiger attack incident and issues with the Nevada Gaming Commission.

Tess and Danny had been together since high school and after college, they had built a semi-secure life in New York-secure until Danny's moonlighting career as an art thief blew up in his face. He got busted during a million dollar art heist and went to prison for several years. Tess had been accused of being involved, so in order to rebuild her life, she moved to Las Vegas and divorced Danny while he was in jail. She became a respected art dealer and the live-in girlfriend of casino owner/gangster, Terry Benedict. She and Terry were happy, that is until Danny got out of prison and spearheaded a casino heist against Benedict's casinos-none other than the Mirage and the MGM. Danny and his associates got away with over 165 million dollars and he won Tess back. They got remarried after Danny spent six months in prison for parole violation and eventually, Benedict was muscled out when he couldn't cover his debts. This allowed Danny to buy into the MGM-the very casino he had robbed-and Benedict went to jail for tax evasion. He died of a heart attack in the joint, still plotting revenge on Danny until the day he kicked the bucket. Over the years, Paris had gotten used to people whispering behind her back about how her father had acquired his wealth, but she didn't care. Most people didn't really believe it because it had never been proven. Nevertheless, it was still one of the most fascinating stories in Sin City, ranking right up there with Teddy Binion's death and the exploits of the Rat Pack.

Paris sighed, still puzzling about why her father needed to see her. Probably school, she thought. Paris was in her third year at UNLV, but had yet to declare a major. She took the minimum number of credits-just enough to stay in school-and her subjects were hardly stimulating intellectually, but it allowed her enough time to pursue her hobbies-shopping, partying, and boys.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door. She crossed the room, opened the door, and allowed Danny and Tess Ocean to breeze into her suite with elegance only they could pull off. Danny, looking handsome and powerful in his gray Hugo Boss suit, ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed, salt and pepper hair as he glanced around the suite in consternation at the clothes, shoes, and CDs that littered the floor and every other surface as well. He faced off with Paris as Tess smiled awkwardly, twirling a lock of her auburn hair around her finger and occasionally brushing imaginary lint off of her navy blue suit.

"Sit down, Paris," Danny ordered as he and his wife seated themselves on the couch and Paris flopped in an oversize chair.

"Look, Dad, if this is about the Manolos, you have to understand that they were on sale. I mean, I know 390 is a lot for a pair of shoes, but they were marked down from 520 because of the little scuff on the heel and." She stopped, noticing her father's face.

Danny looked back and forth between Paris and Tess before rising to his feet and practically exploding.  
"390!" he shouted. "You spent 390 on a pair of shoes?

"They were Manolo Blahniks," Paris protested.

"I don't give a damn if they were the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz! A 20-year old girl with no job and no money has no business wearing 390 shoes! They're going back"

"But I can't take them back," Paris cried. "They were on sale."

Danny stared at her, absolutely livid as Tess put a calming hand on his arm and encouraged him to sit down.

"Paris, dear," Tess began. "This is exactly what we wanted to talk to you about. This exorbitant spending has to stop. Your father and I may be wealthy, but we work hard for what we have. We didn't just have it handed to us. We built these casinos so our children wouldn't have to struggle like we did, but we still expect you to work and get an education."

"What your mother is so delicately trying to say, Paris, is that this free ride just came to an end," Danny said. "Paris, your mother and I love you, but we never raised you to be a spoiled brat and you never were, until you graduated from high school. Now, all you care about is shopping and partying-oh, and I forgot, spending our money. A week doesn't go by that I don't see your name in the tabloids or your picture being snapped by the paparazzi. You don't work, you don't go to school half the time-your classes are a joke and you're still practically flunking out of school! How can someone only take twelve credits and still flunk out"

"Dad, I'm sorry," Paris whined. "It's just that school is so boring."

"Boring?" Danny scoffed. "I'd be bored, too, if I was taking 'Intermediate Theater' and 'Introduction to Yoga.' Where is that going to get you in the real world? Maybe if you took some challenging classes, you wouldn't be bored."

"Paris," Tess stepped in. "We know you're intelligent. We know you have so much potential."

Paris sighed. "I know, Mom, you're right. I mean, I am 20 years old and it's time that I thought about a career. I'll tell you what-next semester, I promise I'll take some business courses and Dad can give me a job in one of the casinos. Or maybe I could work in one of your galleries, Mom."

Tess glanced at Danny, who shook his head.

"Sorry, Paris, but it's not that simple. You see, you gave in just a little too quickly and I tend to think that you've got this art of telling us what we want to hear down too well. No, there isn't going to be a next semester. Your days at UNLV are done for now."

"You're kicking me out of school?" Paris cried incredulously.

"No," Danny continued. "You're more than welcome to go to school if you have some way to pay for it. Your mother and I are tired of footing the bill for your lifestyle. Paris, you're beautiful, intelligent, and wealthy, and this will all be yours someday, but you can't just sit around and wait for that day to come. Your mother and I are still relatively young and we're very healthy, so as far as us dying goes, you might be in for a long wait. You need to work and earn your way. You have to prove to us that you're capable and deserving of this empire."

"OK, fine," Paris said, somewhat put out. "I'll just go to work for one of you."

"You're not working for me," Danny replied.

"Why not?" Paris shouted.

"You have no skills. What do you know about running a casino? I'm sorry, Paris, but I only hire people with experience and a proven track record."

Paris looked like she was about ready to cry. Seeing that Danny wasn't budging, she turned to her mother.  
"Mom, you'll hire me, won't you?" she wheedled.

"Honey, what do you know about art?" Tess replied gently. "Most of the people who work for me have Masters Degrees in art history or extensive field experience."

"This is so unfair!" Paris fumed, tears welling in her eyes. "How am I going to convince a stranger to hire me if I can't even convince my own parents?"

"That's true," Danny agreed. "I mean here in Vegas, you need experience to even get a job as a waitress or a floor runner. You have to go to school to bartend. You might get on at one of the clothing stores, but then, you're on commission and you have no sales experience. I'm afraid there isn't much you're qualified for, Paris-that is, that will cover the rent for a penthouse suite at the Bellagio. Then, there's gas, food, and of course, your shopping addiction and."

"You're charging me rent?" Paris screamed, crying.

"Damn straight I am, young lady," Danny shot back. "Like I said, the free ride is about to end."

"Mom!" Paris cried, flinging herself dramatically into her mother's arms. "You can't let him do this to me! You can't just throw me out into the streets"

Paris began to sob loudly as Tess stroked her hair and looked imploringly at Danny.

"That's enough," Danny said as he handed her a handkerchief so she could blow her nose and wipe her eyes. "Despite what you may think, Paris, I'm not totally heartless. I've gotten you past the hard part-I've already found you a job."

"You have?" Paris asked, looking up.

"Oh, yes," Danny replied. "I've arranged for you to go to work for an old friend of mine in New York."

"New York?" Paris said, her smile fading. "You mean I can't stay here in Vegas"

"Your father and I thought that it would teach you to be more responsible if you didn't have us at your immediate disposal and if you were away from the temptations of Sin City," Tess explained.

"But I hate New York," she pouted.

"You won't be in New York all the time," Danny went on. "You're going to be traveling six days a week. You'll be living in hotels mostly- just what you're used to."

"So what's the job?" Paris asked, dreading the answer.

"You're going to be working for my old buddy, Vince McMahon" Danny told her.

"The wrestling guy?" Paris squeaked. "I don't know anything about wrestling! Do you think he could get me a nice office job"

Danny shook his head. "Paris, you have no office skills. You're going on the road with the wrestlers and crew-that way you can learn responsibility and maybe a little humility, too. You'll be perfectly safe- Vince just happens to be your godfather and his son, Shane, is going to be looking after you and Amanda's going, too."

Paris brightened somewhat. 'Amanda' referred to her best friend and partner in crime, Amanda Jones. Amanda lived in the suburbs over by UNLV with her father and stepmother. Her father, Jack, owned a multi-million dollar publishing company. He was never one to hassle her about not having a job because Amanda wasn't near the shopping freak Paris was. He just let her do her own thing and had a job waiting for her at his company when she was ready. Paris figured that Danny had to do some smooth talking for Jack to allow Amanda to participate in this 'adventure.'

"You'll be leaving for Louisiana Monday morning," Danny droned on. "That's where Vince's Monday night show is. Shane will pick you up at the airport and show you around. Only take the minimum of what you need because you have to carry your own bags and you'll be moving from city to city every night. Now, give me your credit cards."

Paris looked at her father, horror-struck. "You're taking my credit cards? How am I supposed to live"

"We'll give you some money to get you by until your first paycheck," Tess told her. "You're going to have to learn how to budget."

"Your travel expenses and lodging are paid for," Danny said. "And you get one meal at each show, so that just leaves your other meals and personal items. I think you can handle that, Paris."

"How am I supposed to shop?" she protested.

Danny laughed. "As long as it fits into your budget, but knowing Vince, you won't have much time to shop."

"This sucks," Paris sulked as she handed Danny her Platinum Visa and her Gold MasterCard.

"Hey, I think I got you a pretty cushy job, missy," he told her. "It beats the hell out of McDonald's, doesn't it? Oh, I want the American Express, too."

Paris rolled her eyes as she handed her father her last piece of plastic. She had hoped he wouldn't notice it was missing, but he did.

"Honey, you have all day tomorrow and what's left of tonight to get organized and pack," Tess said. "Do you want to join us for dinner?"

"No, thanks, Mom," Paris replied. "I have a ton to do. Besides, I have to call Amanda and find out how Dad convinced Jack to let her go, too." She gave Tess a hug as her parents rose to leave.

"This is for your own good," Danny told her as he kissed her cheek.

"I know, Dad. Goodnight."

Danny and Tess Ocean bid their daughter goodnight as they left her suite and headed downstairs to have dinner.

"Are we doing the right thing, Danny?" Tess worried.

"Only time will tell, I guess. I just hope she learns something."

He squeezed his wife's hand and they disappeared into the crowded dining room.

The next day:  
Sunlight streamed into Paris' suite as articles of clothing flew through the air amid curses and oaths from their owner. Amanda Jones was stretched out on Paris' bed watching her best friend have a meltdown as she tried to force one more pair of designer shoes into her bag. Tall and attractive with dark hair, Amanda was the complete opposite of Paris. Where Amanda had a lankier, more athletic build, Paris was shorter with lush curves and a very feminine air about her. Amanda was more comfortable in sweats and a T-shirt with no makeup than she was in designer clothes. She had spent their entire friendship being compared to Paris' natural good looks, but she didn't blame Paris. Her best friend was about as unaffected by her beauty as the next girl and was constantly finding imaginary flaws in her otherwise perfect figure. Paris was always telling anyone who would listen that Amanda was the prettier one. Amanda wasn't sure anyone believed her, but that was OK because where Paris was considered to be somewhat uptight and conceited, Amanda was definitely the fun one.

"How can you just lie there so calm and cool when my whole life is falling apart?" Paris shouted as she pushed a sweaty lock of blond hair out of her flashing violet eyes.

"Paris, if you try to force one more thing into that bag, it's going to burst."

"I need a trunk," Paris said thoughtfully.

"Oh and how are you going to pack it around? We're not going to have valets and bell boys," Amanda explained.

"But I need all of this," Paris whined.

"What for? I'm taking one suitcase and one carry on. My dad says that we're probably going to have to wear a uniform anyway, so we don't need a lot of clothes."

"Uniform?" Paris said, wrinkling her nose. "What kind of uniform"

"Well," Amanda replied as she sat up and pulled her dark hair into a ponytail. "We're going to be part of the backstage crew, so we'll probably be wearing jeans or khakis, T-shirts, and tennis shoes. It's not a fashion show, you know."

"How can you be so fucking cheerful about this?"

Amanda sighed. "How can you not be, Paris? We're getting out of here! Besides, it might be fun. Some of those wrestlers are pretty cute."

Paris snorted derisively. "Wrestlers? Cute? Please, Amanda, they're a bunch of sweaty Neanderthals who grab each other's crotches and probably can't rub two brain cells together."

"You haven't watched wrestling in a while, have you, Paris"

"Not since I was like twelve."

"Wrestling's changed a lot. Those 'sweaty Neanderthals' are now hot-assed guys who have college educations, businesses on the side, and moonlight as rock stars."

"Name one wrestler who moonlights as a rock star."

"Moongoose McQueen."

Paris laughed. "The lead singer of Fozzy?" Fozzy was one of Paris' favorite heavy metal bands. "Please, Moongoose is not a wrestler."

"Yes, he is," Amanda argued. "His name is Chris Jericho."

"Chris what?" Paris questioned. "Never mind-I'm going there to work, not to hit on guys. I could care less about the wrestlers. I hardly think any of them will be up to my high standards anyway."

"I wish I knew when you became such a fucking snob, Paris."

"Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" Amanda replied. "This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to us and all you can do is sulk and bitch."

Paris chuckled. "I see now that my dad didn't have to convince your dad of anything. You were the one doing all of the convincing."

"Yeah because I want to get out of here"

"How can you want to leave Las Vegas"

"Paris, what did we do yesterday?"

"Went shopping."

"And the day before?"

"Shopping again and then we got drunk that night."

"Don't you get it?" Amanda went on. "We are in such a rut. All we do is shop, party, drink, and pass out-over and over, 24/7. It sucks and it's getting old."

"Gee, I thought it was called being young and rich. I thought we were having fun."

"Someday the fun's gonna end, Paris. Then what? Plus we're not going to be young forever. Maybe it's time to grow up."

"When did you turn into such a drag?" Paris asked sarcastically.

She expected a witty retort from Amanda, but instead, her friend just stared at her with tears in her eyes.

"I guess I just wanted this to be an adventure," Amanda explained sadly. "Just you and me. But I guess if you're so down on it, maybe I just won't go."

"Don't even say that," Paris said as she threw her arms around her friend. "I wouldn't even be agreeing to this fiasco if you weren't going, too."

"Agreeing?" Amanda laughed. "As if your father gave you much of a choice."

"Look, I'm sorry," Paris replied. "I promise I'll make the best of this."

"No more negativity"

"Negativity-what's that?" Paris laughed.

"You promise?"

"I swear on my father's grave."

"Your father's not dead"

"Maybe if he was I could get my credit cards back."

"Paris!"

"I'm kidding! You know I think my dad's pretty cool as far as parents go."

"Hey, maybe we'll catch Vince's eye and he'll make us WWE divas."

"As if," Paris replied dryly. "No, I have a feeling Mr. McMahon is going to be quite the slave driver."

"You promised-no negativity," Amanda scolded. "Think adventure. Now, let's see if those damn shoes will fit in my bag."

Paris finished packing just in time to catch a shower and have dinner with her parents. She had managed to fit everything she needed into two suitcases, two carry-ons, and her makeup case-over twice the luggage Amanda was taking. Amanda just shook her head in exasperation and bid her friend goodnight, making plans to meet at the airport in the morning. They decided against going out one last time because they had to be up early and besides, Paris didn't want to push the envelope with her father.

Eight AM arrived too soon and before Paris knew it, her things were loaded into a limo and she was on her way to the airport with her parents. Amanda was waiting for them at the boarding gate with her father. Paris had just enough time to get her luggage checked and say a quick goodbye to Tess and Danny.

"Now, here's the money we promised you and I want you to call me when you get to Lafayette," Tess said as she hugged her daughter tightly.

"I will, Mom," Paris promised.

Danny stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his daughter as a few of the Vegas paparazzi snapped some last minute pictures.

"We love you, you understand?" he said.

"Yes, sir," Paris replied. The reality had finally sunk in.

"We're doing this for your own good."

"I know, Dad."

"Here's a credit card-it's got a 500 limit on it and it's for emergencies only. Now, I don't mean fashion emergencies or party emergencies-I mean if you really need it, it's there for you."

"Thanks, Dad," Paris said solemnly.

"I want you to make me proud, Paris," Danny went on. "Make a good impression and don't make me sorry that I recommended you to Vince." He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

"Good luck, Princess," he said as she turned to head down the boarding tunnel.

"I love you guys," Paris called, waving. "Bye, Mr. Jones!"

"Bye, Mr. O! Bye, Mrs. O!" Amanda yelled, pushing Paris through the gate.

Finally, they were seated on the plane and Paris was still waving at Tess and Danny as the plane took off. In a few hours, they would be landing in Lafayette, Louisiana where Shane McMahon would pick them up and introduce them to a life in the WWE.

The adventure lay ahead of them.

Please review-toodles-Evilution


	2. ShanoMac and Y2J

Chapter 2 - ShanoMac and Y2J 

Several hours later, Paris and Amanda's flight arrived in Lafayette. Praying that their luggage made it as well, the girls wandered aimlessly around the airport for several minutes before Amanda grabbed Paris' arm and pointed across the terminal.

Paris focused on a guy in his early 30s, who was holding a sign that said 'Paris and Amanda.' He had short, neatly coiffed, dark hair and he was wearing jeans and a designer Armani shirt. He glanced in their direction and knew immediately that his party had arrived. So, this must be Shane McMahon, Paris concluded, as he strode towards them. Not bad, she thought. He was kind of cute, but kind of a dork. Not that is mattered-he was her boss and that was that.

"Ladies, I'm Shane McMahon," he said, shaking their hands, very businesslike.

"I'm Amanda Jones," Amanda said, returning the handshake with equal enthusiasm.

"Nice to meet you, Amanda," he replied. "And you must be Paris."

"I must be," she said, shaking his hand.

"Ladies, I hate to be rude, but we're on a very tight schedule, so let's go get your luggage and I'll go over some things with you in the limo."

They followed Shane to the luggage pick-up and helped him load everything onto a carrier. Once the luggage was in the limo, they settled back while Shane rifled through some papers and checked his messages on his cell phone.

"Where are we going?" Paris asked when he appeared to have a free moment.

"We're going to stop at the hotel to drop off your things and then, we're going to the Cajun Dome for the show.

"Do we need to change or anything?"

"No, you look great," Shane replied, not really looking at them. "In the future, you'll probably want to dress as comfortably as possible...you know, jeans, khakis, comfortable shoes. Sure you don't want to change out of those Pradas, Paris"

"No, I'll be fine," she replied. Her feet were already starting to ache in her new camel-colored Prada boots, but she'd never admit it. She wished she had dressed more like Amanda, who had on tan cargo pants and Nikes.

After a quick stop at the hotel where a doorman took their bags, the limo changed direction and they headed to the arena. Shane took the opportunity to orientate them on their new 'careers.'

"Here's the scoop, ladies," he explained. "My father arranged for both of you to be travel coordinators, but the problem is that Ionly have one spot for a coordinator on RAW, so that means that one of you will have to work over on SmackDown. Unless, of course, one of you wants to do a different job."

Paris and Amanda just stared at him, confused. Neither of them had understood a word he had said.

"Excuse me, Mr. McMahon?" Paris began. "But..."

"Shane."

"What?"

"Call me Shane."

"OK, Shane," Paris said. "You just totally lost us."

Shane rubbed his temples. Obviously, he was dealing with a different breed of person here. He decided to stay calm, patiently taking a deep breath.

"OK, let's try this again," he began. "RAW and SmackDown are our two main shows. Each employs a different roster of wrestlers and travels on a different schedule. I run RAW and my sister, Stephanie, runs SmackDown. You two are supposed to be travel coordinators, which means you get assigned to a different wrestler every week and you basically cater to their every need within reason, of course. Get it?"

"What do you mean 'cater'"? Paris questioned.

"Make sure their luggage is taken care of, take phone calls for them, get their coffee...you get the picture. Now, not all wrestlers require coordinators, but some do. Sometimes, a wrestler who doesn't normally use coordinators will have a particularly busy week and they'll need a coordinator-that's where you come in."

"So if we do this, we're going to be split up, right?" Amanda asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Shane replied. "Each show has about four coordinators. We used to have five, but we had to make some cutbacks and then, another one quit. The three coordinators on RAW are all guys, but they're really nice."

"Well, we don't want to be split up," Amanda said. "Is there another option?"

"I can put one of you on the ring crew, but that's a pretty shitty job for nice girls like you."

"It can't be any shittier than this coordinator thing sounds," Paris stated.

Shane ignored her attitude. "The ring crew sets up and takes down the ring and the sets. Basically, it takes about three hours to set up and an hour to take down. You're free during the show and after tearing down."

"Are there any other women on the ring crew?" Amanda asked.

"Quite a few, actually."

Paris opened her mouth to say something rude, but Amanda interrupted her.

"I'll do it," Amanda volunteered. "That coordinator thing doesn't sound like my cup of tea anyway. Anything so we don't get split up."

"It's hard work, Amanda," Shane warned.

"Hey, I work out," she retorted. "I can handle it. Besides, the travel coordinator sounds more suited to Paris. She's not use to getting her hands dirty if you know what I mean."

Paris glared at Amanda as she and Shane shared a chuckle at Paris' expense, of course. Paris would have liked to know when Amanda became such an authority on the subject of manual labor.

"Oh, and like you are?" Paris snapped. "If I remember correctly, you haven't worked a damn day in your life, Amanda Jones! And work out? Please! Jogging down to Krispy Kreme Donuts is not considered working out."

"Neither is shopping," Amanda shot back.

"Ladies, please," Shane said, throwing his hands in the air. "No fighting allowed. Now, let's make up because we're almost to the Cajun Dome. I want both of you to remember that every time you go out in public, you're representing the WWE now. Please try to conduct yourselves accordingly."

The limo pulled into a large garage and Shane quickly ushered them into the building, prattling on about employee handbooks and paperwork, which he promised to have to them by the end of the night.

"Are we allowed to date wrestlers?" Amanda asked. "Oh, and are we allowed to go out?"

"Yes and yes," Shane answered. "You're allowed to do anything you want on your personal time as long as you don't do anything to embarrass the company. That goes for public drunkenness and sleeping around. But you two are adults, you don't need a lecture. Ah, here we are at last"

He ushered them into the main part of the arena where people in WWE T- shirts were setting up the ring and the cameras. Other people in Cajun Dome polos were setting up chairs and railings.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Amanda Jones and she's going to be joining your little family tonight. Please treat her as you would want to be treated yourselves and show her the ropes, no pun intended."

Several of the ring crew stepped forward and greeted Amanda warmly.

"Amanda," Shane went on. "This is Mike...he'll be your supervisor. If you need anything, just ask him or come to me. Got it? Good! Let's go, Paris, no time to waste."

Paris barely had time to say goodbye to Amanda as Shane rushed her toward the backstage area and the guy named Mike commandeered Amanda over to some place where he was going to "rustle her up a T-shirt."

Shane looked at his watch and rifled through more papers, muttering incoherently.

"OK, Paris, this is what we're gonna do," he said. "Please try to keep up, Paris-I knew those boots were a bad idea. Anyway, I'm going to put you with Jericho for the first week. He's a veteran here and he'll show you all the ins and outs and he won't let anyone give you any shit."

Paris nodded, trying to hurry behind Shane. She didn't know what a Jericho was, but it sounded like a person. Shane finally stopped.

"Chris, I want you to meet someone," he said.

Paris caught up as a good-looking guy with long blond hair turned with Shane to stare at her. She skidded to a halt, her 200 Prada boots sliding across the cement floor as both Shane and this Chris person caught her arms and prevented her from falling. She blushed furiously, trying to regain her composure.

"Chris, this is Paris...this is her first night" Shane said.

"No shit," Chris said as he gave her an uninterested once-over. "Paris, as in Paris Hilton?"

"No, as in Paris Ocean," she retorted. "Nice to meet you, Chris, is it?"

"Paris, this is Chris Jericho. His real name is Chris Irvine. Chris, Paris is going to be a travel coordinator and I thought I'd put her with you for the first week."

"What I am I supposed to do with her?" Chris snapped, clearly not caring whether Paris could hear him or not.

"Show her around, introduce her-let her take care of the minor details for you. She's a good kid and..."

"Shane, I'm not the WWE welcome committee. You know I don't use coordinators."

"Can I speak to you over here for a moment?" Shane said, taking his arm. "Excuse us, Paris."

Paris watched the two men walk away, not knowing whether she should be offended or not. Obviously, Chris Jericho had no use for her and he wasn't shy about letting her know it.

"Did you have to be so fucking rude?" Shane asked when they were alone. "I mean do you know who she is?"

Chris shook his head. "Shane, I don't have time for this."

"Do you know who she is?"

"I don't care who she is!"

"Well, let me fill you in...she happens to be the daughter of Danny Ocean. Yeah, Danny Ocean, the casino owner," he repeated when he saw the look of recognition dawning on Chris' face. "Not only that, but my dad is her godfather and he gave her a job as a favor to Danny."

"Why does she need a job?" Chris asked. "Her old man is worth more than this whole company."

"I don't know all the details," Shane said. "He's teaching her a lesson about money or something like that."

"And we're the lucky recipients of her services?" Chris snorted.

"Well, I see that you seem to have cornered the market on being an unadulterated prick lately, so..."

"Hey, I've got a lot of shit going on right now!"

"I know that, man, and believe me, I understand. Now, I'm sorry you feel this way, but this girl being here is important to my father, so whether you like it or not, I'm going to insist that you do me this favor."

Chris chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought. He would have liked to tell Shane to shove it straight up his preppy ass, but Shane was his friend and he was right...Chris was being a prick. She looked like a nice enough girl, maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he thought. He looked up at Shane, his blue eyes flashing.

"You owe me, McMahon."

"Hey, I haven't said anything about Trish, have I?" Shane whispered.

"You just did, ass clown."

"You know what I mean," Shane laughed as Chris nodded. "OK, now go apologize and be nice to her, for Christ's sake. I have a shit load of work to do, so tell her I'll talk to her later, OK"

Paris shifted uncomfortable as Chris approached her and Shane walked off in the other direction. Great, he was leaving her alone with Mr. Congeniality.

"C'mon," Chris ordered. "You can put your coat and purse in my locker room and then I'll show you around."

"Wouldn't want to put you out" Paris mumbled.

"I beg your pardon?" Chris said, pretending not to hear her.

"You heard me."

"Oh, we have an attitude," Chris added, smirking. "Attitude isn't allowed around here. Neither is sarcasm or irony."

"You're the one who was rude," Paris told him. "I was just standing there trying to do my job."

"Which is what?" Chris questioned.

Paris looked at him funny before responding. Was he an idiot? "Travel coordinator," she said.

Chris laughed. "Do you even know what a travel coordinator does? Do you have any idea what I expect out of my travel coordinators?

"I shudder to think," she retorted.

"See, now there you go again. That was sarcasm. Didn't I tell you sarcasm isn't allowed here?"

"I was just saying that considering all the kindness you've shown me so far, I can only imagine what you expect out of me."

"Listen, Princess, I'm not thrilled about this either, but according to Shane, neither of us has much of a choice."

"How ironic," Paris remarked as she gave him a sidelong smirk. She noticed that he was smirking as well. "Look, Chris, I just don't want to be a pain in your ass. I mean you made it pretty obvious back there that you don't want to work with me and..."

He laughed, chuckling quietly to himself.

"What's so goddamn funny?" she demanded. If there was anything she disliked more, it was being mocked.

"Listen, Paris, I think we got off on the wrong foot...what do you say we start over? I'm Chris Jericho." He held out his hand.

"Now you're patronizing me," she said, folding her arms.

"I swear I'm not. Look, I know I'm an asshole...I've just got a lot of shit on my mind right now and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, OK?"

Paris couldn't help smiling. He was rather charming...in a jerky sort of way.

"I'm Paris Ocean, I'll be your coordinator for the week."

"Excellent," he replied. "Now let's hit my locker room real quick and then, I'll put you to work."

"Sounds good," Paris said as she followed him down the hall.

"So Paris," Chris began as they were walking. "I hear you're Danny Ocean's kid."

"You know my father?"

"More like I know of him. Come to think of it, I believe I've seen your picture gracing the tabloids on a few occasions. I knew you looked familiar."

"What can I say? The paparazzi love me."

"Yeah, well, just don't end up on a scandalous Internet video."

Paris laughed. "I'll do my best."

She gave him a sidelong glance as they continued walking. "So are you really Moongoose McQueen?" she asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, my friend said you were and you do kind of look like him."

"Let me ask you this, Paris...are you a Fozzy floozy?"

"A what?"

"A female Fozzy fan."

"I guess you could say that."

"Then, I'm Moongoose McQueen," he replied smiling.

Paris laughed as Chris led her into his locker room, which he seemed to be sharing with some other guys. He put her coat and purse in his locker and waited patiently while she used the bathroom, not having seen a lavatory since she had been on the plane. When she exited, Chris was in an animated conversation with another hot-looking guy.

"Everything come out OK?" Chris asked. Paris had already determined that Chris was somewhat blunt and had an unusual sense of humor.

"Fine, thanks," she replied.

"Paris, this is my friend, Jason Reso, but you can call him Jay. Jay, this is Paris Ocean, the new travel coordinator."

"Nice to meet you, Paris," Jay said, shaking her hand. "Damn, Chris, she's heinously better looking than those other two broads."

"Please...like there's any comparison," Chris scolded him. "Listen, I hate to be rude, but I need to show Paris around and I haven't even glanced at a script yet. We'll rehearse later?"

"Sure, man, no problem. Later, Paris."

"Rehearse?" Paris questioned as they left.

"Jay and I team together sometimes," Chris explained. "And we help each other out with our scenes."

"Who were those other guys?"

"The one with the buzz cut is Lance Storm...he and I trained to become wrestlers together in Canada."

"You're Canadian?"

"Yeah, I grew up in Manitoba. Jay's from Toronto and Lance is Canadian, too. Usually, we all share a locker room because we all get along."

"Who was the other guy? He was kind of good-looking."

"Sean Morley. He wrestles as Val Venis, former porn star."

"He used to be a porn star?"

Chris laughed. "No, that's his gimmick."

"So what's your gimmick?"

"I'm just obnoxious and arrogant...you know, the King of the World, the King of Bling Bling...that sort of thing."

"And you don't think they were typecasting when they put you in that part?" Paris said, grinning.

"Remember what I told you about sarcasm, Paris."

She laughed. "So what's Jay's gimmick?"

"Jay is Christian-he's kind of a whiny, crybaby type. He likes to think all the fans, which he calls his 'peeps,' like him, but they really don't. He used to team with this other Canadian guy, Adam Copeland. They were Edge and Christian...pretty funny actually. Adam wrestles on SmackDown, but he's been out for awhile with a neck injury."

"Do you guys get injured a lot? I thought it was fake."

"Scripted, not fake," Chris corrected. "Accidents do happen. It kind of goes with the territory."

She followed Chris into an office where he picked up a stack of papers. Several people stared at her and she smiled shyly, assuming Chris wasn't ready to start introducing her yet.

"Listen, Paris, I have a ton to do before the show, so I'm going to find you a quiet place where you can sit down and proofread this script for me. Just read through it, mark my spots, and make any notes if you want. Oh, and I'm gonna give you my cell phone, too, because I don't want to be disturbed."

"OK," Paris agreed rushing to keep up with him.

"Wait here...I'll see if you can use the catering room."

Paris waited while Chris disappeared around the corner. While she was waiting for him to return, she noticed a group of guys gathered around a guy with purple hair. They were all laughing and hugging him. Paris wondered who he was.

"Paris," Chris said, startling her. "You can sit in here...the caterers will probably come in to set up our dinner, but they won't bother you. Oh, and if my ex-wife's prick lawyer calls, tell him I said she can go fuck herself, got it?"

"No problem."

"OK, I'll hook up with you before the show."

He turned to leave, but Paris stopped him.

"Chris, who's that guy down there with the purple hair?"

Before Paris could respond, Chris practically freaked out.

"Holy shit, what the hell is he doing here?" he exclaimed as he rushed down the hall toward the purple-haired guy and the group of wrestlers, seemingly forgetting that Paris was there.

Paris shrugged and sat down at one of the tables, figuring she'd just ask Chris about the mystery man later. She managed to find a pen lying around and started reading the script. Chris was the host of an interview segment called The Highlight Reel. He was supposed to be interviewing Eric Bischoff, who was the Co-General Manager of RAW, but the other Co-GM, Steve Austin, was going to start The Highlight Reel without Chris and book some matches for the upcoming pay-per-view. Chris and Jay were supposed to come to the ring and talk some trash to Austin and then, he was going to book them in a match against each other, which Jay was going to win by cheating. Paris made some notes in the margin that Chris should win the match and beat the hell out of this Austin guy. She drew some flowers and a Fozzy logo next to her words.

The rest of the script was nothing less than fascinating-it was like watching an episode of General Hospital meets The Shield. There were women fighting, quite a bit of swearing, and people were constantly running in on other people's matches. The script also included a lot of discussion about a guy named Kane, who had gotten thrown into a flaming dumpster the week before by none other than her boss, Shane McMahon. Kane was going to exact his revenge this week by handcuffing Shane to the ring post and hooking jumper cables to his testicles. After which, he was going to shock Shane unmercifully by hooking the cables to a live battery. Unfortunately, the script didn't include a lot of history, so Paris had no idea what could have caused such an intense feud, but she figured it must have been pretty bad.

She was almost done with the script when two women entered the room and looked around. One of them was short with long, blond hair and she was extremely beautiful. The other had flaming red hair and a large tattoo on her shoulder-she was equally gorgeous.

"God, isn't the food here yet?" the redhead asked rhetorically. "I'm starving"

"I don't see anything," the blond replied. "Maybe she knows." They both looked at Paris.

Just as they were approaching her, Chris' cell phone rang.

"Hello?" Paris said, answering it.

"Who in the fuck is this?" a shrill female voice screamed at her.

"Umm...Paris," she replied confused. The two women were watching her intently.

"So are you the whore Chris is fucking?" the woman demanded.

Paris was flabbergasted. "I...uh...I don't know what...I'm just Chris' assistant," she stammered.

"That's a likely story," the woman shouted. "You tell that son of a bitch that he better get ready to fork over some that money he's hiding from me or..."

"I...I..." Paris had to hold the phone away from her ear to avoid the woman's annoying shrieks.

"Give me the phone," the beautiful blond woman said as she walked up to the table.

Paris thought it best not to argue and handed the phone to the blond.

"Jessica, is that you?...This is Trish...Yeah, well, you can think what you want...Chris and I are just friends so why don't you save your drama for someone who gives a shit?...You're the one who cheated on him...Yeah, whatever, I'll tell Chris you called."

With that, she hung up the phone and laid it on the table.

"That was Chris' ex-wife," the blond told Paris. "Did I hear you say that you're Chris' assistant?"

"Yeah, well, sort of. I'm his travel coordinator."

"Well, that explains why you're reading his script and fielding calls from the bitch from hell," she said, as she smiled first at Paris and then, at the redhead. "I'm Trish Stratus and this is Amy Dumas. I guess you could say that I'm sort of Chris' girlfriend, but that's a secret, so don't say anything, OK?"

Paris shook Trish's hand and then, did the same to the redhead Trish had referred to as Amy.

"So why are you in here all by your lonesome?" Amy asked

"Well, Chris was supposed to show me around, but he got busy."

"Chris? Show you around?" Trish laughed. "Oh, that won't do at all. You won't learn any of the ins and outs or the good gossip unless you have the Trish and Lita tour."

"Who's Lita?" Paris asked.

"That would be me," Amy replied. "It's the name I wrestle under."

Suddenly, Trish pulled her up from the table and linked arms with her. Paris clutched Chris' script tightly to her chest as the two women led her out of the room, chattering a mile a minute. Trish called over her shoulder to one of the stagehands for him to let Chris know that his travel coordinator was safely in the hands of her and Amy.

Paris had little choice but to follow.

Please review. Hugs...

-Evilution


	3. Trish and Lita

Chapter 3-Trish and Lita 

Quick as lightening, Paris was ushered down the hall by her two new 'friends,' Trish and Amy. As the trio walked, the two divas very animatedly pointed people out to her and gave her a running commentary about who was who in the WWE.

"So you two are actually wrestlers?" Paris questioned, finally getting a chance to jump into the conversation.

"We've both been Women's Champion," Amy explained. "Trish more than me lately-I've been out for 16 months with a broken neck."

Paris looked horrified. "A broken neck? You got hurt in the ring"

"Nothing like that," Amy replied. "I was filming an episode of that show 'Dark Angel'...I don't know, I must have landed wrong."

"Of course, some of the divas don't wrestle full time," Trish went on. "Like Stacy Kiebler and Jackie Gayda. The divas on SmackDown don't really wrestle all that much either...mostly because the Women's title is exclusive to RAW. That's where the serious female wrestlers are."

"So what's your story, Paris?" Amy asked.

"Well, my dad got sick of me spending his money, so he got me a job here...me and my friend, Amanda. I guess Vince is my godfather."

Trish and Amy both looked impressed.

"So your old man's loaded?" Amy continued.

"He owns three casinos in Vegas, so yeah, I guess he's pretty wealthy," she explained shyly. It was usual for Paris to be somewhat boastful rather than humble, but she found herself a bit awestruck by the poise and beauty of these two women. Obviously, she had totally misjudged wrestlers in general. In fact, she felt like a clumsy schoolgirl.

Trish suddenly stopped and grabbed Paris' arm.

"Which three casinos?" she asked.

"Umm...the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM."

Trish looked at Amy, stunned. "Your dad's not Danny Ocean, is he?"

"How'd you guess?" Paris asked.

"Oh my God!" Trish gushed. "I met him at one of Vince's parties once."

"And?" Amy urged.

"Loaded is not even the word-he's worth ten times what Vince is," Trish explained to both Amy and Paris, as if Paris didn't know. "He's really nice though...looks like George Clooney. And your mother, well, she's an angel...such an eye for art."

Recognition had dawned on Amy as well. "So is all that shit true? You know, the casino heist and everything?"

Paris smiled. "Honestly, I don't know. I mean, it makes sense, but he'll never give me a straight answer."

Amy nodded, smiling. "You're OK, Paris."

"Thanks," Paris replied as they resumed walking. "Umm...Trish, where are we going?"

"Oh, silly me! I'm so blond sometimes."

Paris glanced at Amy, who nodded silently, agreeing with Trish's self- assessment.

"We're taking you to meet the other divas," Amy explained.

"Oh,cool," Paris said.

Amy and Trish rounded a corner with Paris on their heels and pushed open a door that said 'Women's Locker Room.'

Several women looked up as they entered and began coming forward to greet and gossip with the two divas and their new friend.

"Ladies," Trish announced. "I'd like to introduce you to our newest travel coordinator...this is Paris Ocean."

"Hi, everyone," Paris said pleasantly.

All at once, the divas came forward to shake hands with Paris and introduce themselves.

"This is Stacy Kiebler," Trish said, indicating a pretty blond girl with extremely long legs. "And this is Jackie Gayda," she said introducing a sultry-looking blond.

"And I'm Lisa Moretti," a pretty brunette said as she shook Paris' hand. "But you can call me Ivory...that's the name I wrestle under and since there's two Lisas, everyone just calls me Ivory." She was very bubbly and talkative.

"This is the other Lisa...Lisa Varon," Amy said, introducing a very beautiful lady who had black hair with red streaks in it. "She wrestles as Victoria."

"Nice to meet you," Paris said, shaking her hand.

"And I'm Jacqueline Moore," said a petite black woman pleasantly.

"And then, there's Terri Runnels, our interviewer, and that's Lillian Garcia, our ring announcer," Trish explained, pointing to two blond women, who were deep in conversation. They both looked up and smiled politely at Paris, who waved hello.

Obviously, several of the divas had heard of Paris' father, so she spent the next few minutes fielding questions about Danny and his exploits. While they were chatting, Paris noticed two other women enter the locker room. One had short, dark hair and a sour expression on her face. The other was a short, Asian woman, who had an equally unpleasant profile. They ignored everyone and went off into a corner by themselves. Eventually, the buzz died down and the ladies went about their business. Paris followed Amy and Trish over to their lockers and sat down while her friends unloaded their gear.

"They seem really nice," she remarked.

"They are, in general," Trish replied. "But there's always a few bad apples...like those two." She indicated the two women who had entered late.

"Who are they?" Paris asked.

"Nora Greenwald and Gail Kim," Amy said. "Nora wrestles as Molly Holly and she's the Women's Champion. I don't know...she used to be really nice until that Kim character came along. And then, you want to look out for Jackie, too."

"Which one?"

"Jackie Gayda," Trish stated. "She's nice to your face, but she'll stab you in the back in a heartbeat."

"And she'll screw anything with a dick," Amy whispered. "She's been after my boyfriend for months."

"Who's your boyfriend?"

"His name's Matt. He wrestles on SmackDown, so we don't get to travel together. You'll get to meet him tonight because he's visiting Chris and Jay, but first, we need to give you a lesson on who to avoid. Let's take a walk," Amy said. "Fewer ears."

Paris grabbed Chris' script and followed Amy and Trish out of the locker room, anxious to hear some dirt on the WWE's supposed bad eggs. They ended up taking a long route back to the catering room and Trish was mindful that they were out of anyone's earshot before she began.

"Well, first there's Molly and Gail-you want to avoid them like the plague," she explained. "And then, there's Rob Van Dam."

"Who?" Paris asked, intrigued.

"Rob Van Dam," Amy repeated. "He's a totally conceited asshole and he'll nail anything with tits."

"And then, there's Evolution," Trish said, quietly.

"What's that?" Paris questioned.

"They're a very powerful group of wrestlers," Amy stated. "Their leader, Triple H, pretty much calls the shots around here. He almost always has the World title. He's pitching a fit right now about having to lose it to Goldberg."

"And he's in tight with Vince, too," Trish added. "But not as much as he was. See, he used to date Stephanie McMahon...they dated for like two years and then, she dumped him last summer when Shawn Michaels cam back. She's marrying Shawn in October."

"I guess he's over Steph and everything," Amy went on. "But he still does everything he can to make Shawn's life miserable. Fortunately, Vince has always really liked Shawn...and now that he's marrying Steph, Paul feels like he's losing his power."

"Paul Levesque...that's Triple H's real name" Trish said, noticing Paris' look of confusion. "We, I mean, most of us just find it best to not cross him."

"Who else is in Evolution?" Paris asked.

"There's Randy Orton, Batista, and Ric Flair," Amy told her.

"Ric Flair?" Paris said. "He's been around forever."

"Rumor has it that Evolution is trying to get rid of him," Trish said. "He doesn't really associate with them outside of work."

"There's always a commotion when Evolution is involved," Amy remarked.

"Do they have anything to do with that guy with purple hair?" Paris asked.

Trish and Amy's heads snapped up and they stared at each other in shock.

"What guy with purple hair?" Amy queried.

"When Chris gave me that script to read, there was a group of guys in the hallway milling around some guy with purple hair. I asked Chris who he was, but he just ran off."

"It couldn't be," Trish said in disbelief.

"Who?" Paris demanded, her curiosity piqued. "What's going on?"

"The only guy I know with purple hair is Jeff Hardy," Amy began. "He's my boyfriend's younger brother. He got fired earlier this year."

"What for?"

"Well, the publicized reason was that he 'lost his passion' for wrestling," Amy explained. "But a lot of people think Triple H had something to do with it."

"Let's go find Chris and find out what the hell is going on," Trish suggested.

Paris took off after Trish and Amy as they practically sprinted down the hall. As she struggled to keep up in her Prada boots, she noticed that they had ended up back at the catering room. The food had arrived and people were starting to line up to eat. Paris spotted Chris at the end of the line, which extended into the hallway. He was talking with Jay and two guys she didn't know. As they approached, Amy grabbed the guy with dark hair. With a look of pleasant surprise, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss as Chris put an arm over Trish's shoulders. Paris noticed that both of her friends seemed pleased to see the other guy and greeted him with warm hugs. As Paris looked more closely, she realized that it was the man with purple hair. He had on a backwards baseball cap and it was almost completely covering his vivid purple locks.

"Paris," Chris said, finally noticing her. "It's good to see these two harpies didn't scare you off."

Trish looked mildly offended at the harpy comment and slapped him playfully on the arm.

"Paris, this is my boyfriend, Matt Hardy," Amy said. "And this is his brother, Jeff." She pointed to the guy in the baseball cap. "Guys, this is Paris Ocean."

"Nice to meet you," Matt said, shaking her hand. "Are you a new diva?"

"Oh, no," Paris laughed. "I'm just a travel coordinator."

"Well, if you want my opinion," Jeff stated. "You're beautiful enough to be a diva." He kissed her hand, his green eyes twinkling mischievously.

Paris blushed. "Thank you."

"Did you get my script read?" Chris asked.

"I did," she replied. "The Highlight Reel is going to get interrupted by Steve Austin and he's making you wrestle Jay. Jay's gonna win by holding the ropes. Oh, and your ex-wife called."

"What the hell did she want?"

"Well, she accused me of fu...umm, sleeping with you and then, Trish took over the call."

Chris looked at Trish. "Did she scream at you?"

"Of course," Trish replied. "But better me than Paris."

Chris' brow furrowed slightly at the mention of his ex-wife, but he was quickly distracted by two men who got in line behind Paris, and he started talking to them as Trish took Paris aside. Amy, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Matt and Jeff.

"See those three guys up there," Trish whispered as she pointed toward the doorway into the catering room. "That's Evolution."

Paris looked and there were three guys standing off to the side of the dinner line, looking at some papers that they had spread out on a table that was standing in the hall.

"The big, mean-looking guy is Batista," Trish went on. "The young guy is Randy Orton, and that's Triple H."

Paris glanced at the man Trish had indicated was Triple H. He was impeccably dressed, his biceps bulging in his silk Sean John shirt. His long, honey-colored hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and he had an intimidating sneer on his otherwise handsome face.

"He's meaner looking than that other dude," Paris remarked.

Trish snorted. "Batista's a teddy bear compared to Triple H."

Paris was about to retort when she felt Chris' arm on her shoulders and heard him saying that he wanted to introduce her to someone.

"Guys, this is Paris Ocean," Chris said. "She's my travel coordinator for the week. Paris, this is Shawn Michaels and Steve Austin."

Paris shook hands as both men greeted her warmly.

"If you need anything, these are two of the guys to ask," Chris told her. "They're kind of the locker room leaders around here."

"Is it true you're Danny Ocean's kid?" Steve inquired.

"That's what it says on my birth certificate," Paris smiled.

"Last time I saw you, you were just a little girl," Shawn said.

"Have we met?" Paris asked, trying to place him.

"Oh, I'm sure you don't remember me," he explained. "I used to be a regular at some of your dad's parties-back in the 90s when I was quite the playboy."

"I'm sorry I don't remember," Paris apologized.

"It's OK," he said, smiling. "But you did tell your dad once that I was cute."

Paris giggled...something she didn't normally do, but, damn, he was cute. "Well, if it's any consolation, you still are cute, so I don't doubt that I did say that. I hear you're engaged to Stephanie."

"Yes, I am," Shawn confirmed.

"I swear you have a death wish," Steve told him.

"I'm not afraid of him," Shawn shot back.

Paris didn't want to butt in to their conversation, but she knew exactly who they were talking about. Nonchalantly, she turned to face the front of the line. She noticed that Chris had stepped out of line and was talking to a guy with a headset on. Matt and Jay had been separated from them and were further up the line talking to a guy with green hair. Trish and Amy had given Stacy, Terri, and Lillian cuts in line, which explained the separation. Jeff was still at her side, but seemed to be concentrating more on his surroundings that anything else. Paris glanced up and immediately became nervous.  
She was only moments away from coming face to face with the cold eyes of Triple H.

Please read and review. XOXO

-Evilution


	4. Evolution

Chapter 4 - Evolution 

Paris was so lost in thought with her inevitable encounter with Evolution that she absently bumped into Amy, who dropped a bracelet she was holding. Paris apologized as Amy bent over to pick up the bracelet. Their exchange was interrupted by an arrogant voice right next to Paris.

"Lita, Lita, Lita," Randy Orton drawled. "How do you expect me to control my animal urges when you insist on sticking that sweet ass of yours right in my face?"

Paris glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the rude comment and gave Randy a disgusted look. Amy snapped upward and glared at him as well. Paris noticed that Matt had heard the comment and was trying to force his way back through the line, but it was too crowded.

Amy put her hand up in Matt's direction, indicating for him to stop pushing.

"Matt, I can handle this," she said, calmly.

Matt stopped in his tracks, but continued to watch the situation closely.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" Amy told Randy as Triple H and Batista looked at each other and laughed arrogantly.

Randy cocked his eyebrow seductively. "I'd rather...no, I can't say it, it's too easy." He turned and noticed Matt, who had become restless once again. "Oh, are you gonna do something, tough guy?"

Amy put her hand up again to stop Matt, but Triple H stepped forward, placing a brotherly arm on Randy's shoulders.

"Now, Randy," he chided, about as phony as a three dollar bill. "It's not nice to steal another guy's girl, like some people I know."

Paris followed his cold, dark eyes as they landed right on Shawn Michaels. His meaning was crystal clear. Paris looked over her other shoulder at Shawn, who met Paul's gaze, but instead of issuing a sharp retort, he simply turned and continued speaking with Steve. Paris figured that Shawn obviously cared so deeply for Stephanie, he didn't want to make a scene with her ex. Paris also doubted that this was the first time such a scene had occurred. She was about to move forward when all of the sudden, a strong hand gripped her arm. She turned and stared up into the scowling face of Triple H.

"Who in the blue hell are you?" he demanded.  
"I...I'm Paris," she stammered, wishing she didn't sound so intimidated. Regardless of how she felt, she met his steely gaze and stared coldly back at him.

"I know everyone around here," he said. "And I don't recall ever seeing you before."

"Well, I guess you don't know everyone then, do you?" Paris replied tartly. "Now, if you'll kindly let go of my arm."

"Hey, Paul," Randy interrupted. "I've never been in Paris before, have you?" He gave Paris a lazy once-over.

"Can't say that I have ever been in Paris before, Randy," Paul stated. "But I hear it's not all it's cracked up to be." His dark eyes locked with her flashing violet ones, piercing her very soul. His mouth twisted into a sardonic sneer, daring her to say anything.

Paris was intimidated, but she was damned if she was going to let him know that. Chris, Amy, Trish, Matt, and Jeff were all watching the drama unfold with morbid curiosity. Shawn and Steve were pretending to mind their own business, but remained vigilant of the ensuing situation.

Paris finally broke the silence. "Gee, I haven't heard that one since high school," she said, nastily. "Did he think that up on his own or did you two come up with it together?"

A muscle twitched in Paul's jaw as he glared at her and Randy looked confused. Paul's grip on Paris' arm tightened slightly and she winced, knowing there would be bruises by morning.

"Exactly who in the hell do you think you are talking to me like that?" Paul demanded.

"I believe she asked you to let go of her" said a voice behind Paris.

Paris turned and met the steely gaze of Jeff Hardy. His green eyes were glittering dangerously as he stared Evolution down.  
Paul looked somewhat taken aback, but then, the realization of who he was looking at dawned on him. Paris took the opportunity to yank her arm free from his grasp. Paul didn't even seem to notice.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Hardy?" Paul spat. "Weren't you fired a few months ago? Drugs, wasn't it?"

"You'd like everyone to think that, wouldn't you, Paul?" Jeff shot back, deadly calm.

Paul chuckled. "It doesn't matter what everyone thinks, Jeff. They'll think what I want them to think."

"Well, it just so happens that Vince is the one who's thinking," Jeff smirked. "Thinking he may have made a mistake. Thinking about giving me a second chance."

Paul stepped forward, forcing Paris out of his way and standing almost nose-to- nose with Jeff.

"Over my dead fucking body," he said, very slowly, his jaw clenching.

"Now that would be a big fucking loss," Paris practically shouted, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

She watched Paul's spine stiffen and he turned to face her, his large frame towering over her.

"And you," he said, threateningly. "You've just experienced your first and your last night in the WWE."

With that declaration, he pushed past Jeff and Trish and stalked off toward Shane's office.

"That was a mistake," Randy Orton said as he took off after Paul. "Big mistake."

"Huge," Batista said, following Randy.

As soon as they were out of sight, Paris breathed a sigh of relief. She relaxed as she felt Shawn Michaels' strong hands gripping her shoulders.

"That took balls, kid," he said, gently rubbing the tension out of her muscles.

"Paris, he's gonna have you fired," Trish said, wringing her hands.

"I'm not worried," Paris replied. "I didn't have the heart to tell the jacked up moron that Vince is my godfather. He'll fire Paul before he fires me. Now, can we get this line moving. I'm starved."

Everyone laughed as Matt and Jay started ushering everyone through the door. There really wasn't much of a line anymore because everyone behind Matt and Jay had been watching the drama in the hallway.

"Come on, everyone...show's over," Matt said as they headed toward the buffet.

"No drama here," Jay said, winking sarcastically at Paris, who smiled back despite her trembling hands.

Meanwhile, Shane McMahon was in his office desperately trying to get organized and meet all of the deadlines that were lying in front of him. He was rudely interrupted as his office door swung open with a bang and Evolution strode into his office.

"I need to talk to you," Paul Levesque demanded.

Shane glared at him, taken aback by the blatant lack of respect being shown to him, but it was status quo for Evolution to disrespect everyone they came into contact with. Shane was no exception, even if his name was McMahon.

"Knock, knock," he said sarcastically. "Please come in! What can I help you with, Paul?"

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Shane."

"What do you want?"

"What in the hell is Jeff Hardy doing here?"

"That's between Jeff and my father," Shane replied. "I don't know anything about it, except that Stephanie has convinced my dad that he may have made a mistake."

Paul snorted with disgust. "I should have known this had her touch on it."  
"Anything else?" Shane asked, trying to get them to leave.

"Who's the little blond bitch with the smart mouth?"

Shane chuckled. "You must have met Paris."

"Get rid of her," Paul stated.

"I can't," Shane said.

"Why not?" Paul asked. "I mean I know you're completely useless, Shane, but I at least thought you had the grapefruits to fire someone. Maybe I was wrong."

"You don't get it, Paul," Shane explained, ignoring the insult. "I can fire anyone I want, except her."

"So what's so special about her?" Randy asked.

"My father hired her as a favor to an old friend. She's Danny Ocean's daughter." Shane knew that Paul knew exactly who Danny Ocean was. He was surprised to see that Randy and Batista recognized the name as well.

"Not only that," Shane continued. "But my dad is her godfather. So whether you like it or not, she's not going anywhere."

"Is that a fact? Well, if she can't be fired, maybe she'll quit. Maybe I'll just have to make her quit." Paul cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

"Don't do anything stupid, Paul."

"Just keep her out of my way and she won't get hurt. Do you think you can handle that, Shano?"

"Paris won't bother you again," Shane told him. "But it's a two-way street...that means you leave her alone as well. Don't talk to her, don't look at her, and don't touch her." He glanced at Randy Orton as he stressed the 'don't touch' comment. "Now if you don't mind, I'm extremely busy."

Paul laughed. "No problem, Shane. We'll let you get back to pretending to be important."

Paul continued laughing as he strutted out the door, followed by Randy and Batista. Shane slammed the door in frustration, hating Paul Levesque. Every time he had to deal with Evolution, he walked away feeling about an inch tall. Their lack of respect made him feel grossly inadequate, even though Shane had proven himself more than capable of running RAW and taking horrendous bumps for that matter. If Paul could do this to him, he could only imagine how small and insignificant the bastard had made his sister feel and it made Shane hate him even more. He would be damned if he allowed Evolution to hurt Paris like Stephanie had been hurt. He had promised to protect her and Shane always kept his promises.

Please review :)

-Evilution


	5. More Enemies and A Bet

Chapter 5 - More Enemies and A Bet 

Paris was still shaking slightly from her encounter with Triple H that she could barely dish up her plate for dinner. After helping herself to some salad, she sat down at a large table between Chris and Jeff. Amy, Matt, Shawn, Steve, Stacy, and Jay were all nearby as well. Everyone seemed very concerned about whether she was OK and all agreed that Triple H had totally acted like the jerk everyone knew him to be. Paris eventually calmed down and began to enjoy her meal while listening to tidbits of information that only fueled her curiosity about the WWE.

The main topic of conversation, besides Evolution, was the Shane McMahon/Kane feud and there was a lot of talk about someone named Goldberg, who Paris understood was in line for a title shot against Triple H. From what Paris could gather, Goldberg wasn't very well-liked and kept mainly to himself. There was animosity between him and Triple H stemming back to when Goldberg worked for another promotion and exchanged derogatory comments with Triple H on a radio show. Apparently, the upcoming storyline involved Goldberg winning the title and then, Triple H was going to place a bounty on his head. This was going to open the door for Batista to return to active competition-Chris told her he had been out for several months with a shoulder and triceps injury.

Paris was having a great time listening to all of the gossip and she had even been invited to go out after the show by Amy and Trish. Of course, she told them that she would have to see what her friend, Amanda, who was also new, was doing. Just as she had been thinking about Amanda, she glanced up to see her friend enter the room surrounded by a group of ring people. Amanda was laughing and chatting animatedly with her coworkers. Paris smiled, happy that Amanda was making friends and fitting in. When Amanda turned from the buffet table to go sit down, Paris raised her hand to wave at her, but her friend didn't see her. Paris waited until Amanda sat down and then, excused herself to go say hello. Naturally, she had to walk by Evolution, who had entered the room a few moments earlier and had a table all to themselves toward the front. She could feel Triple H's icy gaze boring into her as she crossed the room. She heard Randy Orton make a suggestive comment under his breath and as she turned to glare at him, she saw him and Batista smiling rakishly. Rolling her eyes and trying not to blush, Paris proceeded over to Amanda's table.

"Hey, girlfriend," Paris said.

Amanda turned around in her seat and upon seeing Paris, her face lit into a huge smile.

"Paris," she cried, hugging her. "Oh my God, where have you been?"

"Around," Paris replied. "And you?"

"Just working hard setting up the ring and stuff. Look, I even got dirty." Amanda pointed to her red polo, which was covered with black smudges.

"Jack would be so proud," Paris laughed, referring to Amanda's millionaire father.

"And what about you, Miss Thing? Rubbing elbows with all the famous wrestlers, huh?"

"Yeah, they're OK," Paris responded. "Jericho's really cool...I'm with him for the rest of the week."

"And was I right? He is Moongoose, isn't he?"

"You were right, as usual."

"You owe me fifty dollars."

"For what? We never had a bet or anything"

"It's just the standard unspoken bet...whenever one of us is right...you know how it works."

"Yeah, well, I don't have fifty dollars to spare right now, so I guess I'll have to owe you."

"OK, I guess I can trust you," Amanda conceded, teasingly. "So anyway, we heard you had an altercation with Evolution."

Paris snorted in disgust. "Boy, good news travels fast."

"Around here it does," Amanda cautioned.

"Those guys are a bunch of assholes," Paris pointed out. She vaguely noticed Triple H and Randy Orton watching her intently.

"You better be careful" Amanda warned. "They call all of the shots around here." Several of the ring crew nodded in affirmation of Amanda's statement.

"Yeah, well, I don't answer to Evolution."

"Rumor has it that Triple H went to Shane to have you fired," Amanda whispered.

"And I'm sure he found out why I'm here," Paris replied, examining her nails. "I bet it galled him to find out that only Vince himself can fire me."

"Just be careful, OK?"

"OK, I will. Hey, Trish and Amy invited me to go out after the show and of course, you're invited, too."

"Umm...I can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, we're supposed to stick with our groups and I've already made plans to go out with Sarah and Annie."

"Oh," Paris said trying not to sound too put out. What would have happened if she hadn't had plans with Trish and Amy? Would Amanda have just ditched her? And what was all of this crap about 'sticking with their own groups'? The whole point of Amanda taking the ring job was so that they wouldn't be split up.  
"Don't worry, we'll take good care of her," said a smarmy-voiced girl wearing a name tag that said 'Sarah.'

"Amanda can take care of herself," Paris replied in a somewhat snarky tone.

"I'm sure she can," Sarah said, overly sweet and definitely phony. "But she's right you know. The rules say that we're only supposed to fraternize with our immediate coworkers, so that means that since you're a travel coordinator, you're supposed to stick with either the wrestler you work for or the other coordinators, and Amanda sticks with the ring crew."

Paris smiled back, equally phony. "Thank you so much for all of that priceless information, Sarah, is it? I'm so refreshed that you were here to give me a full detail on what my job description entails, considering you're not even my boss."

The sugary smile quickly faded from Sarah's face once she realized she was being mocked and her light green eyes flickered over Paris coldly. Amanda blushed slightly and gave Paris a warning look.

"Please don't embarrass me," Amanda whispered.

"I'm not the one being rude," Paris retorted.

Sarah glared at her before nudging Amanda. "Sorry to tear you away from your...umm, friend, but we need to finish eating so we can go check the sets."

"Besides," said another girl whose name tag read 'Annie.' "We don't need her bringing the wrath of Evolution down on us."

"Sorry, Paris, but I have to get going," Amanda said, obviously embarrassed and somewhat apologetic. "I'll talk to you later."

"When?" Paris demanded.

"I'll call you-we can have breakfast tomorrow before the flight."

"Promise?"

"I promise I'll call you."

"OK, later," Paris said as she gave Sarah and Annie a dirty look and walked back to her table, trying to decide if she was more pissed off at those two stupid bitches or at Amanda for letting them order her around.

As she passed Evolution's table, she once again felt three sets of eyes boring into her. Trying not to let them see her unease, she thrust her chest out impudently and stuck her nose in the air as she sauntered past, praying she didn't trip in those damn Pradas. Naturally, Randy Orton couldn't resist making a comment.

"Sweet, very sweet" he murmured as he leaned over toward Batista. "Hey, D, wouldn't you like to tap..."

He never got to finish his sentence because Paris whirled around to face him, her violet eyes blazing.

"If you've got something to say to me, why don't you say it to my face?" she exploded. Chris, Jeff, and the others all glanced expectantly toward Evolution at the sound of Paris' voice.

Randy's eyes flickered over her casually, resting longer than they should have on her breasts. He glanced at Batista and gave her a lazy smile.

"Dave and I were just having a little debate...a debate over which one of us wants to nail you harder," he replied, nonchalantly as if this was a totally appropriate conversation to be having about someone. It was undoubtedly the norm for Evolution.

Paris' eyes narrowed as Batista leaned back in his chair to get a better look at her assets. Randy cocked his eyebrow in that annoyingly sexy way of his and Triple H smirked insolently at her.

"Don't forget to include me in that debate," Paul commented. "Of course, after me, she'd probably never walk again."

"After any of us," Randy added, pretending to be offended that Paul excluded him and Batista from his last remark.

Paris rolled her eyes. "Oh, ha-ha...you guys are so funny! Why don't you go back to junior high?"

"Why don't you have a seat on my lap, Paris?" Randy offered. "Something big might come up."

"Listen, you..." Paris began, but she was interrupted by Shane McMahon, who entered the room along with two stagehands.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "We've got a little over an hour until show time. Please finish up here, take care of any details, and get into costume ASAP. We roll at eight. Oh, and Paris...can I see you for a moment" Shane beckoned her to follow him into the hallway.

"Oh dear" Randy said, mockingly. "Someone's in trouble."

"Maybe if you're extra...and I mean extra...nice to us, Paris, we can convince Shane to give you your job back," Batista added in a silky voice.

"But you'd be required to do a little giving as well," Randy told her.

"And we require a lot of special attention," Paul went on, his words dripping with innuendo. "When you took this job with the WWE, did you pack your knee pads?"

All three wrestlers laughed, apparently enjoying the fact that Paris was on the verge of tears. Crying was unacceptable as far as she was concerned, especially in front of these assholes. Taking a deep breath, she held her head high and blinked back the tears.

"No knee pads?" The Game droned on. "Maybe we'll buy you some. You're going to need them." He shot her a conceited smirk.

"Maybe you can go fu..."

"Paris...NOW!" Shane shouted, sticking his head back in the door.

Paris colored slightly as all the attention in the room was focused on her. She distinctly heard a snort of laughter come from Amanda's table, undoubtedly belonging to Sarah and Annie. Giving Evolution a final frosty glance, she swiftly followed Shane into the hall.

"I bet she screams like a banshee," Randy remarked, his eyes glued to Paris' swaying hips.

"How much you wanna bet I find out first?" Paul challenged.

"No way, man...she hates you," Batista reminded him. "She hates all of us."

"And I hate her," Paul added. "That doesn't mean I won't fuck her just the same. How much?"

"A hundred bucks," Randy replied. "Prepare to lose, o great leader."

"I never lose," The Cerebral Assassin stated matter-of-factly. "You in?" he asked Batista.

Batista stroked his chin thoughtfully. He didn't usually participate in Paul and Randy's childish games, but this one sounded fun. Besides, Paris was hot...no doubt she was a great piece of ass. And it was only a hundred bucks...pocket change.

"Why not?" he agreed casually. "After me, she'll never go back."

"Yeah, keep talking, big man," Randy mocked. "You're both going down."

"Isn't that the idea?" Batista asked sardonically as the three men burst out laughing.

Sealing the deal, they shook each other's hands and continued to whisper conspiratorially as they watched Paris leave with the Boy Wonder.

Meanwhile, Shane turned to face Paris as she stepped tentatively into the hallway. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look completely pissed either, so hopefully, that was a good thing.

"What's up?" she asked Shane, trying to sound casual. Batista's insinuation that she was going to be fired echoed in her ears. "Am I fired already?" she joked.

Shane sighed loudly. "No, nothing like that, although that proposition was brought to me tonight."

"Let me guess-Evolution?"

"Triple H in particular. He wants you out of here."

"Big surprise," Paris said, sarcastically. "Ask him how it feels to want."

"It's no laughing matter, Paris," Shane exclaimed, harshly. "Paul has a lot of power around here. He has more influence over my dad than I do sometimes. Now, I let him think that there was no way my dad would ever fire you and maybe that will hold him off for a while, but I can't make any promises, Paris. I don't know how far I can go to protect you if he whines loud enough to my dad."

"So what are you saying, Shane...that Vince won't protect me? I thought he was my godfather."

"Paris, I hate to break this to you, but my dad barely realizes nor does he really care that you're here," Shane confessed. "He doesn't have time for stuff like that. He gave you the job as a favor to Danny and told me to handle it. I've been spreading the word about who you are and about Vince being your godfather in case anyone scoffs about you getting placed in such a peachy job right away. Travel coordinators are considered somewhat honored positions because you get to hang with the wrestlers."

"So you're saying I can be fired?"

"I'm not going to fire you unless you really piss me off," Shane stated, truthfully. "But I'm saying that you're going to have to swallow your pride and toe the line with Evolution...even if you end up coordinating for them."

"You can't let that happen," Paris pleaded, her voice rising excitedly.

"I may not be able to stop it, Paris. If they request a coordinator and you're available, there's nothing I can do. Christ, you never should have got on his bad side."

"Bad side? Shane, come on! Those guys are disgusting pigs! You should hear the shit that comes out of their mouths. Hasn't anyone around here ever heard of sexual harassment?"

"Sexual harassment?" Shane scoffed. "Please, Paris, this is wrestling. It's been attempted, but no one's ever made it stick. One diva decided she was too big for the WWE and tried to slap a sexual harassment suit on us so she could get out of her contract and go make movies. We settled out of court, but the movie career never came and eventually, that diva came crawling back to the WWE, begging for her job. Her name is Sable and she works on SmackDown if you'd like me to introduce you sometime. You're just going to have to resign yourself to the fact that it goes with the territory."

"That doesn't make it right...or legal," Paris pointed out.

"The women here give as good as they get...it's a two-way street."

"So what? I just grin and bear it? I just smile like a blithering idiot when Triple H asks me if I packed my knee pads?"

"If you want to keep your job," Shane answered, honestly. "I hate to put it that way, but you can't fight Evolution and win. Now, I'm not saying give in, but you have to at least appear cooperative. If that means turning the other cheek to their taunts, that's what you do. They won't hurt you, Paris...even they wouldn't go that far."

"You're sure about that?"

"I'd bet my life on it. Besides, you're a smart kid. I'm looking out for you as much as I can, but I can't be everywhere. Just don't do anything stupid-don't take any unnecessary chances. Never accept drinks from anyone you don't know or trust and never leave your drink unattended. Take it to the bathroom if you have to. And always have someone you trust walk you to your room."

"You've gotta be shitting me?"

"I've never known exactly what that expression means, but no, I'm not 'shitting' you. And it's not just Evolution...you take those precautions with anyone. Chris and Shawn are diehard partiers and they'll tell you the same thing."

"Am I in some sort of twisted nightmare all of the sudden?"  
"Welcome to the WWE," Shane retorted. "Now, don't worry too much about what I said. It's not that you're not safe. I just want you to be careful...constant vigilance. You're an adult in the real world now, Paris...you gotta look out for number one because no one else will." He touched her cheek in an affectionate but brotherly manner. "Now, I need you to go find Chris. It's almost show time."

Thank you to Mandamirra10, Jess420, Belladonna4, and FiKa for reviewing. As for pairings, I'm not sure yet. I'm thinking about redeeming Triple H in some way, but it's so hard because he's such a bad boy. Plus I don't want to give anything away. RVD may play a big part and Paris is also going to have a stint in Ohio Valley Wrestling. I'm not sure about Amanda- I'm thinking about writing her out, kind of on a jealousy angle. My friend also wants me to include Mike "The Miz" Mizanin from the show The Real World on MTV because he's an aspiring wrestler. I may have him make an appearance in OVW. Thanks again-toodles

-Evilution


	6. Show Time

Chapter 6 – Show Time

            Paris bid Shane goodbye and hurried down the hall to Chris' locker room.  The more she thought about what Shane said, the more she realized that he was just concerned.  Years of looking out for Stephanie had probably turned him somewhat overprotective.  The things he told her were no different than what her dad told her when she went to college or when she hit the Vegas party scene.  And he was right—it wasn't just Evolution—you had to be vigilant with everyone.  Evolution were rich, powerful guys—if they had to stoop to that level (and she doubted they would), it was only logical that some lowlife would do the same thing.  She decided not to worry about it anymore.  It was always good to be careful, no matter what situation you were in.  She also made a mental note to seek out Evolution after the show and attempt to bury the hatchet.  She didn't want to, but she wanted to ease Shane's mind and she was never going to enjoy her job if she was on Triple H's hit list.

            She was so lost in thought that she didn't even think to knock on Chris' locker room door.  As she burst in, several wrestlers in various states of undress either dove behind locker doors or simply stared at her like deer caught in the proverbial headlights.

            "Oh my God!" Paris gasped, quickly covering her eyes, but not before a glimpse of Lance Storm's butt disappeared behind a locker.  "I'm so sorry—I…I should have knocked.  I…I'm just going to leave now, b…but before I do—Chris, do you need anything?"  She sounded like a blithering idiot.

            Chris chuckled as he wrapped a towel around his waist and strolled over to her.

            "Paris, it's OK," he said as he took her hands from her face and tried to get her to stop stammering.  "This is a guy's locker room—you're going to see naked guys every once in a while.  We're not embarrassed, so you shouldn't be either."

            "Speak for yourself!" Lance called.

            "Lance is a little shy," Chris explained.  "Now, back to business—I need you to go down to wardrobe and get my costume.  Just ask for Colleen—she's the head designer and she'll know what to do, OK?"

            "OK," Paris replied, still trying not to look around the locker room.  "I'll be right back, OK?"

            "I'll be waiting—in all my nakedness," Chris said, jokingly.

            Paris quickly fled the locker room and hurried towards wardrobe.  She remembered Amy and Trish pointing it out to her when they had given her the tour.  When she got there, she noticed a very pretty blond woman in a tight red skirt and a black silk blouse shuffling through some papers and muttering to herself.  Tentatively, Paris stepped into the room.

            "Excuse me, are you Colleen?" she asked.

            The woman turned and stared at Paris with vibrant blue eyes.  She shook her chin-length blond hair out of her face as she removed her wire-framed glasses and let out a disgusted sigh.

            "Jesus Christ!" she exploded.  "Another new diva!  How in the fuck do they expect me to put together an entire ensemble for a brand new diva with twenty minutes notice?  Fucking Shane McMahon—I should remove his balls with a—well, never mind that—you're a size six, right?"  Putting her glasses back on, she gave Paris a very professional once over.

            "Er…" Paris stammered.

            "OK, OK, you're probably only a size four, but we don't want to go too tight because the camera adds ten pounds."  She began pulling skimpy leather and Spandex outfits off of a large rack.

            "I…I'm sorry, but I'm not a diva," Paris finally managed to explain.  "I'm Chris Jericho's coordinator—I just need his costume."

            "Oh, well, why didn't you say so?" Colleen replied as she removed her glasses once again.  "By the way, yes, I am Colleen—sorry to come on so strong, but Shane's always springing things on me at the eleventh hour and it tends to make me a little cranky."

            Paris smiled.  "Hey, you're a designer, which makes you an artist, so you're allowed to be temperamental."

            Colleen stared at her for a moment and then, her face broke into a bright grin.

            "I like how you think, kid," she stated.  "Are you an artist, too?"

            Paris shook her head.  "My mom's an art dealer in Vegas."

            "Tess Ocean, right?" Colleen commented.

            "How'd you know?"

            "Well, I happen to be an avid admirer of your mother's work and I recognized your picture from the tabloids.  Quite frankly, you look better in person—are you sure you're not a diva?"

            "I'm positive," Paris replied.  "But if I ever am one, I can't wait to wear that."  She pointed to scanty hot pink outfit on the end of the rack.

            Colleen rolled her eyes.  "That's one of Jackie Gayda's costumes.  Trust me—I can do better for you—you have a way better body.  Now, you said you're here for Jericho, right?"

            Paris nodded as Colleen started digging through racks.

            "Does he want the blue and purple or the pink and black?" she asked.

            "He didn't say," Paris answered.  "Maybe I can take both and let him pick."

            "That would probably be best," Colleen commented as she handed both costumes to Paris.  "That way he can't blame us if we pick the wrong one.  Oh, and no hurry bringing the other one back.  I know you're busy and it's almost time for the show."

            "Hey, thanks," Paris replied as she headed out the door.  "And it was nice to meet you."

            Colleen waved absently, having already turned back to her papers.  Paris rushed back to Chris' locker room and after remembering to knock this time, handed both costumes to Jericho.  After several minutes, he decided on the pink and black one.  Paris hung the blue and purple outfit on Jericho's locker and turned her back as he whipped off his towel and began to get dressed.  Try as she might, Paris couldn't help feeling self-conscious.  Maybe they weren't embarrassed, but she wasn't exactly at ease in a room full of naked men, even if they were totally hot.  Fortunately, she was distracted as the sound of a slamming door cut into her thoughts.  She looked up as a man entered the room and was greeted by several of the wrestlers.  But he wasn't just any man—he was the most gorgeous man she had seen all night—and that was saying a lot considering she had already met Randy Orton and Jeff Hardy.  This guy was average height and he had dark, honey-colored hair that was pulled back in a tight ponytail.  His greenish-amber eyes glinted in the light and he had a deep dimple on the left side of his chin.  Paris thought she was going to faint as he bent over in front of his locker, revealing the most perfect ass she had ever seen.

            "Oy, Rob—late again?" Jay called.  "You're gonna be in deep shit, man."

            "The show hasn't even started yet, so that means I'm not late," the man known as 'Rob' replied nonchalantly as he began to undress.  

Paris hoped this wasn't Rob Van Dam—the one Amy and Trish had warned her about.  He was just too cute to be that much of a jerk.

"You might as well be late," Chris stated, plainly.  "You totally missed Shane's pep talk and I bet you haven't even glanced at a script."

Rob shrugged, unconcerned, that dimple appearing in his handsome face.  Paris reverted her attention to his corner of the room as he unloaded his gear and continued to undress.  Her eyes widened slightly as he shed his tank top and dropped his pants.  She tried not to stare, but her curiosity got the better of her as his underwear came off and he was standing in front of his locker as God created him.  Paris had never seen such a perfectly shaped butt in her entire life and she almost had to wipe the drool off of her mouth as she continued to ogle his nude body.

"Shit, I forgot to pick up my costume," Rob exclaimed, slamming his locker door.  "I can't very well go down there like this—I'd probably give Colleen heart failure."

"I can send my coordinator for you," Chris offered, pushing Paris towards Rob.  "You don't mind, do you, Paris?"

"Not at all," Paris whispered, barely audible.

She stepped forward, nervously avoiding his eyes as Rob looked her up and down in a calm, cool manner.  He seemed to have not even noticed that there was a woman in the room until now.  He was so at ease and Paris was so uncomfortable, it was hard to believe that he was the one who was naked.

"Paris, is it?" he asked, shaking her hand.

"Y…Yes, I'm Paris," she babbled.

"Nice to meet you—I'm Rob Van Dam."

Paris tried not to snatch her hand away too quickly as he said his name and she remembered the things Amy and Trish had told her, but it was too late.  He had noticed her unease.  With a questioning look, he wrapped a towel around his waist and tried to apologize.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he stated, truthfully.  "I didn't even see you right away.  I guess I just assumed—well, I guess I didn't realize you were new."  His amber eyes gleamed mischievously and that damned dimple appeared out of nowhere.

Paris smiled faintly, trying to dismiss her silly thoughts of embarrassment.  If she was going to do this job, she was going to have to get used to these little situations.  So he was naked—he was a person, just like she was.  It wasn't like she had never seen a nude man before—just not so many of them all at once.  And as for Rob Van Dam himself, Amy and Trish had warned her that he was a player, but Paris was a big girl.  She was on her own now, making her own decisions.  Rob hardly looked dangerous, so what harm would there be in a little flirting?  He was just too damn appealing.

"It's OK—I'm not offended," she assured him.  "I was just daydreaming about what a nice butt you have."  Oh my God, did I just say that? Paris thought wildly.  

Rob smiled, annoyingly charming.  "Well, it's nice of you to notice.  Yours isn't too bad either."

"Thanks, I work out."  God, did I say that, too?  She laughed nervously.  I work out, she thought.  He must think I'm a total moron—of course, he works out every day.

"It shows," Rob remarked, eyeing her appreciatively.

Paris blushed under his intense scrutiny.  She had to do something to alleviate this uncomfortable situation.  Just don't let me do anything to totally humiliate myself, Paris thought.  I'll probably go to leave and trip in these damn boots.

"Er—your costume," she said, breaking the silence.  "Did Chris say you needed your costume?"

"If it's not too much trouble…"

"No trouble," she insisted.  "I have to take this extra one of Chris' back anyway."

She grabbed the blue and purple outfit off of Chris' locker and promptly dropped it.  When she bent to pick it up, her foot turned in her high-heeled boots and she almost lost her balance.  Finally, she was able to regain her footing and with as much dignity as she could muster, she made her way toward the exit, tripping slightly as she reached the door.  Before leaving, she turned to Rob, who was grinning unashamedly at her lack of grace.

"Which costume?" she asked, quietly, trying to hide her humiliation.

"The green one with the snake."

"Green with snake," Paris repeated as she swiftly exited the locker room and headed towards Colleen's office.

"What in the hell was that?" Rob asked, his interest sparked.

"That's Hurricane Paris," Chris explained.  "It's her first night as a travel coordinator and she's already pissed off Evolution, charmed the hell out of Steve and Shawn, and quite frankly, has your tongue dragging on the ground."

"She's gotta be OK if she pissed off Evolution," Rob agreed.  "And my tongue wasn't dragging on the ground."

"Yeah, right," Jay added.  "You could hardly tear your eyes away from her ass when she was leaving."

Rob blushed.  "I was looking at her jeans—trying to see what kind they were."

"I think your mind was more on what's in those jeans than what brand they are," Chris said, smiling knowingly.  "Just so you know, she's Danny Ocean's daughter and Vince is her godfather."

"Great," Rob groaned, rolling his eyes.  "That just narrowed my chances to slim and none."

"You want my honest opinion, Rob?" Chris stated.  "I get the impression that Vince doesn't even really care whether she's here or not.  I overheard Shane talking to her earlier and he said that Vince is just doing Danny a favor.  Paris is pretty much Shano's responsibility—Vince is just too busy."

Rob's brows furrowed in confusion.  "My question is what in the hell does Danny Ocean's daughter need to work here for?  She's bound to inherit millions.  What purpose does she have here?"

"We're a little sketchy on the details," Jay told him.  "Apparently, she has a little problem with money—kind of like she spends too much of it.  She has no job, no ambition, and no skills, so Danny called up his old buddy Vince to give her a job and teach her what it's like to work for a living."

"She's cute," Rob remarked.

"And totally not interested in you," Chris added.  "Trish told me that she and Amy already warned Paris about you."

Rob snorted.  "I swear, what did I ever do to those two bitches?"

"Hey, one of those bitches is my girlfriend," Chris said with a warning glance.

"Besides, I think Amy's the one that has it in for you," Jay stated.  "Did something happen between you two in ECW?"

"Nothing important," Rob scoffed.  "She came on to me and I turned her down.  I was married at the time and she was on again off again with Matt.  Besides, I don't like redheads.  So now, she hates my ass—what's a guy to do?"

"I don't think you have to worry," Chris assured him.  "Paris seems to have her own mind on things.  I'll bet she'll give you a sporting chance—that is, if Randy Orton doesn't beat you to the punch."

"Speak of the devil," Jay said as Paris strolled back into the locker room carrying Rob's costume.

"Colleen says she's sorry, but the green one with the snake has a hole in it," Paris explained as she handed Rob a purple and black garment with a dragon.  "She'll fix it in time for the next show and she said this one's similar.  She said you're not that picky."

"Thanks," Rob replied as he hung the costume on his locker door.  "I appreciate you saving my ass—this way no one knows I was late again."

"It was my pleasure to 'save your ass' so to speak," Paris said, smiling.  And such a nice ass it is, she thought.  Thank God, that didn't burst out of my mouth.

"Can I buy you a drink after the show?"

"Hmm," Paris mused, thoughtfully.  This was her opportunity to flirt.  "I don't know if one drink will cover it.  I mean, it was a long walk to Colleen's office—I'm practically winded."

Rob caught on immediately.  "Well, I suppose I could go for two drinks—would that satisfy you?"

"I'm not much of a drinker," Paris lied.  She could party with the best of them.  "How about a drink and a dance?"

"Only if it's a slow dance," Rob volleyed with a sly smile.  "After all, I wouldn't want you to become winded again."

Paris laughed.  "I was just kidding about that.  You'd be surprised at my stamina."

"Nothing surprises me, Paris," Rob said, grinning.

"I guess I'll see you later then," she flirted.  "Chris, do you need anything else?"

Chris shook his head.  "No, go ahead and enjoy the show.  You can meet me back here after my spot and we'll all go back to the hotel to get ready.  I'm sure they moved your stuff into my room by now."

"Your room?" Paris asked, a measure of concern crossing her face.

"Coordinators always share a room with their wrestler," Chris said, casually.  "You don't have to look at me like that—I'm faithful to Trish and about as harmless as you can get.  You're perfectly safe."

"I wasn't worried—I mean, what happens when I'm not with you?"

"Don't worry, Paris," Chris assured her.  "Shane won't let anything happen to you.  Now, go enjoy the show and hold onto my cell phone."

Paris left the men's locker room and immediately sought out Amy and Trish to tell them about her interlude with Rob Van Dam.  As she was striding down the hallway, she was startled by a huge explosion, which shook the ceiling and the floor.  Paris lurched in her high heels and grabbed a table for support as several stagehands stared at her with questioning looks.

"It's OK, miss," one of them said.  "It's just the pyros."

"Pyros?" she queried.

"Yeah, they shoot off fireworks at the beginning of the show.  It's kind of loud and annoying, but the fans like it."

"Oh, I knew that," Paris fibbed, as she regained her composure.  "I was just surprised—I didn't think it was that time yet."

They nodded as she hurried off trying to conceal her embarrassment.  It's OK, Paris, it's only your first night—of course, you can't be expected to know everything, she tried to reassure herself.

Paris rounded a corner and knocked on the diva's locker room door.  Stacy Kiebler answered and let her in.  She noticed Amy and Trish by their lockers and made her way towards them.

"Hey, Paris," Trish said with a smile as she spotted her.  "So how has your first night been so far?"

"Not bad.  I was mostly fetching costumes and stuff like that.  Chris told me to go enjoy the show, but I wanted to tell you guys what happened."

"What?" Amy asked, interested.

"I met Rob Van Dam," she said.

"And?" Trish urged.

"He was late and I had to go get his costume.  He offered to buy me a drink later."

Amy rolled her eyes.  "Good old Rob—always charming.  You'd do best to stay away from him."

"Well, he was really nice," Paris added.

Amy snorted.  "That's just a front—he's only interested in one thing."

Paris cocked her eyebrow at her redheaded friend, trying to appear brave and sophisticated.  "Maybe that's all I'm interested in as well."

"Trust me—if you're only after sex, you can do better than Rob."

"Amy," Trish said, gently.  "Paris is a big girl.  Maybe she needs to find out for herself."

"Hey, I'm just trying to spare her the heartache, Trish," Amy shot back.  "I guess if a good time is all your after, Paris, then he's your man, but don't expect him to fall in love with you.  That concept is foreign to Rob."

Paris touched Amy's arm lightly.  "Were you in love with him, Amy?"

"Certainly not!" Amy exclaimed.

"Yes, she was," Trish jumped in.  "But he wasn't in love with her.  He was married."

"That didn't stop him from screwing every other bimbo that came along," Amy cried.  "He just didn't like me!"

"Did you ever think, Miss Selfish, that he had too much respect for you for that?" Trish demanded, angrily.  "Maybe he did it out of respect for Matt, too.  I think you need to get over this bullshit once and for all.  You're with Matt now and you guys are totally in love.  Who cares what went down between you and Rob in ECW?"

"You're right, you're right," Amy insisted as she wiped her eyes.  "Paris, if you like Rob, go for it—just be careful, OK?"

"I won't go out with him if it's going to upset you, Amy," Paris said, sadly.  "You're my friend."

"If I was your friend, I wouldn't be trying to hold you back because of some foolish notion of mine.  Rob's single now and maybe he's changed.  For your sake, I hope he's changed."

With that, Amy got up and went into the bathroom.  Paris looked at Trish.

"Is she going to be OK?"

Trish dismissed Amy with a wave of her hand.  "She's fine.  She needs to stop brooding over what never was and never will be.  Sure, Rob broke her heart—but he was honest.  He wasn't interested in her and he told her so.  Besides, she has Matt now. I happen to know that Rob has changed.  He lost his wife over his errant ways and he's not about to fuck up his life again."

"Well, I'm not looking to marry the guy—he just offered to buy me a drink."

Trish laughed.  "You're OK, Paris.  Let's go watch the show."

Paris followed Trish to what was called The Green Room and they kicked back to watch the show.  They were joined later by Amy, who seemed to have recovered from her earlier outburst.  The show went off without a hitch.  Paris particularly enjoyed Chris' match with Jay and Shane's spot with Kane where he got jumper cables hooked to his testicles.  She also had to admit that Rob was an extremely talented performer.  She couldn't wait to ask him how he had gotten those 'educated feet.'

After the show, she checked in with Chris, who told her that they were going to be leaving for the hotel in about ten minutes.  He said that they always liked to have a nicer shower at the hotel before going out.  All Paris needed to do was change shirts, freshen up, and get out of those stupid boots, so she knew it wouldn't take her long to get ready. Chris told her that he'd have the front desk clerk hold a key for her in case he wasn't there.  Paris remembered that she wanted to go talk to Evolution and maybe try to apologize for the events that occurred at dinner.  She noticed that Shane was working late, so begging off on the excuse that she had to fill out her new employee paperwork, she told Chris, Jay, Matt, Jeff, and the girls to go ahead without her and she would meet them at the hotel.  She figured that by the time she apologized to Evolution and hitched a ride with Shane, the others would still be getting ready, but nevertheless, she got the name and address of the club, just in case she missed them.  They bid her goodbye and headed to the hotel as she clenched her fists, trying to stop them from sweating, and made her way toward the door that said 'Evolution.'

Sorry it took so long to update—I'm starting a new job.  Please review—should I keep going?

**--------Evilution**


	7. The Apology

Chapter 7 – The Apology

            As Paris approached Evolution's locker room, her stomach fluttered nervously as her mind raced through what she was going to say.  With trepidation, she knocked on the door and waited as she heard approaching footsteps.  

            A shirtless Randy Orton answered the door and took a second look when he realized who was standing there.  Paris also had to do a double take, admiring his bare chest and tattooed arms.  Randy noticed her staring and, very slowly, a lazy smile crept onto his face as he swung the door open further, revealing Batista, who was stretched out in a comfortable looking chair.  Obviously, Evolution commanded the luxury locker room.

            "Well, well, well," Randy drawled.  "What can I help you with?"

            "Um…can I talk to Paul—I mean, Triple H?"

            Randy glanced at Batista and they exchanged a conspiratorial look.  Batista leaned back, smiling as he laced his hands behind his head, causing his huge biceps to appear as if they would burst.  He was wearing the same clothes that he had been earlier and Paris remembered Chris mentioning that he had been out with an injury.  Chris had told her that he was traveling with the roster and working house shows to prepare for his return to TV.  Randy leaned in the doorway, stroking his chin, contemplating whether he should allow her entrance or not.  Finally, after a tense silence, he stepped aside and beckoned her into the room.

            "Follow me," he told her as he headed toward the back of the locker room.

            Paris complied, noticing that Batista had leaned forward in his chair, apparently to get a better look at her backside as she passed.  Randy turned a corner and there was Triple H, sitting on a bench in front of his locker.  He was shirtless, his wet hair dripping on his shoulders, and he was deep in conversation with a cell phone.  Randy waited until he was finished and hung up before stepping forward.

            "There's someone here to see you," he announced, somewhat sarcastically.

            Randy slid off to one side, revealing Paris, who was almost completely hidden behind his 6'4" frame.  Triple H looked up, uninterested, but then, as he focused on Paris, his face broke into a sardonic smirk.

            "Well, to what do I owe this honor?" he inquired.

            "I…I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute." 

            Paul glanced at Randy, who shrugged, and then, his eyes flickered back to Paris.

            "I guess I can spare a minute," he replied.  "Randy, would you excuse us?"

            Paris looked over her shoulder at Randy, almost with a pleading look on her face, asking him not to leave her alone with Paul.  But he just shrugged again and winked mischievously at her as he turned to go around the corner.  Paris turned back to Paul and tried to swallow, but it felt as if her heart was in her throat.  Taking a deep breath, she held her head high and began to speak.

            "I just wanted to say…"

            "Turn around for a second," Paul ordered.

            "Excuse me?"

            "Just do a quick turn for me."

            Paris was undoubtedly offended, but she decided to hold her tongue.  She held up her hands and did her best modeling turn.  When she was done, she raised her eyebrows at Paul as if to ask if he was satisfied.  Much to her distaste, he shook his head in an exaggerated manner.

            "That was too fast.  Try it again, only slow it down so I can get a better look."

            Obviously, he was toying with her.  

            "Listen," Paris said, impatiently.  "I don't have time for this.  I came here to apologize, but if all you're gonna do is fuck with me, I'll just leave."

            She made a motion to leave, but his insolent voice stopped her in her tracks.

            "Don't leave just yet, Princess—not before I have some fun."

            Her eyes narrowed as he continued on.

            "And by all means, don't let me stop you from apologizing for those unpleasant scenes earlier.  The question is what will it take for me to accept that apology?"

            Paris sighed.  What she really wanted to do was tell him to go fuck himself, but she decided against making things worse.  Instead, she stuck her nose in the air and put on her haughtiest smile.

            "Look, I don't give a shit whether you accept it or not.  That being said, at least I made the effort to offer an apology, which is more than you did."

            She turned on her heel to leave, but once again, Paul halted her exit.

            "Wait!" he called, rising from his bench.

            Paris stopped, turning and giving him a questioning look.  He stepped towards her and instinctively, she stepped backward until she felt the cold steel of the lockers against her back.  He cocked his eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his bare chest.

            "Well?  I'm waiting," he said, anxiously.

            "For what?" she shot back.

            "Um…my apology," he replied in a tone that sounded like a parent reminding an errant child to remember their manners.

            Paris rolled her eyes.  So now he wanted to accept her apology.  Jeez, he was such an asshole!

            "Well, I just think that it would be best if we chalk tonight up as we got off on the wrong foot.  I mean I want my experience in the WWE to be pleasant and productive and that means I have to get along with everyone, especially someone as important as you."

            She took a deep breath, realizing that it sounded like she was babbling.

            "Anyway, I'm sorry," she concluded.

            Paul waited for several moments before responding, enjoying watching her squirm in the uncomfortable silence.  He liked the fact that she thought he was important.  Finally, he nodded, that ever-present smirk returning.

            "I guess that'll have to do for now," he remarked.  "But just so you know, I haven't completely forgiven you.  You're going to have to prove to me that you aren't some spoiled brat who's only here because Vince owed someone a favor.  Nobody loves this business like I do—it takes a lot to earn my respect."

            "Well, I hope I can live up to your high standards," Paris retorted, sounding a little more tart than she meant.

            "Doubtful, but anything's possible.  I'm very hard to please."  This time his voice dripped with innuendo that Paris chose to ignore.

            "So do I get an apology?" she asked, not really expecting one.

            "For what?"

            "Like maybe for those appalling kneepad comments you made."

            Paul chuckled.  "I don't apologize for anything," he told her.

            "Obviously," she retorted.  "Goodnight."

            "Goodnight, Paris," Paul replied, smoothly.  "Maybe we'll bump into each other later."  

He took her hand and gently kissed the back of it, giving her a rakish smile before he released her.  Bumping into Triple H and company was probably the last thing Paris wanted to do later, but she smiled insincerely before turning on her heel and striding toward the exit.  Before she reached the door, Randy stopped her, gently grabbing her arm.  He was apparently very proud of his body as he was still strutting around without his shirt.

"Hey, Paris," he said, quietly, glancing toward where she had just come from.  "Are you going out later?"

"Maybe," she replied, distractedly.  She was still a little flustered from Paul turning on the charm and her hand was tingling slightly where he had kissed her.

"Maybe if we run into each other, I could buy you a drink or something—you know, to make up for earlier."  He shrugged, seemingly oblivious to what a jerk he had been.  Then, that cocky smile returned once again.  "Who knows what one drink could lead to?"

Paris laughed, caustically.  "Don't get your hopes up—or anything else for that matter."

"Oh, I'm wounded," Randy mocked.

"Shut up!" Batista told him as he pushed him out of the way.  "Paris, I'd be more than happy to make up for the immature behavior of myself and my comrades.  Can I buy you a drink later?"

Paris giggled quietly as the huge monster of a man called Batista made an attempt to turn puppy dog eyes on her.

"I really am sorry," he said as he bent his massive frame to gently kiss the back of her hand, just as Paul had done only minutes ago.

Randy glared incredulously at his fellow Evolutionary.  He was bound and determined not to lose the bet to Paul, so there was no chance in hell he was going to lose to Batista.  With great effort, Randy shoved his way in between Paris and Batista, causing his friend to have to release Paris' hand.  Batista looked slightly miffed, but regarded Randy in an amused way as if he were a cool guy watching his inept little brother try to score with a hot chick.

"Paris," Randy interjected as he tried to ignore Batista.  "Not only would I be willing to buy you drinks all night long, but I'm also in need of a proficient dance partner.  What do you say?"

"He's a really shitty dancer," Batista told her with a wink.  "He can't help it—he's just a redneck from Texas."

"FUCK YOU!" Randy exploded, turning around to face his partner.  "I mean who the fuck died and made you Justin Timberlake?"

Batista gave him an odd look and then, laughed.  "At least I can dance to something besides Garth Brooks!"

While they were arguing, Paris noticed that Paul had stepped out from behind his locker to see what all the commotion was about.  He was now wearing a tight black T-shirt that accentuated every muscle in his upper body and Paris could see that he was observing the ensuing scene with utmost interest.  I'll show him, Paris thought, I'll show him that not everyone hates me.  Quickly, she stepped in between the two huge men and placed a soft hand on each of their massive shoulders.  Paris turned on a little bit of her spoiled princess charm and batted her lashed becomingly.

"Now, you two boys aren't going to fight over little ol' me, are you?" she teased.

Randy and Batista immediately reverted their attention from each other to her.

"I mean Paris can be a very vast and exotic place.  There's more than enough of me to go around, so why can't both of you buy me a drink?"

Batista smiled wolfishly, but Randy didn't look quite as pleased.  Paris glanced up at Paul, whose presence had still gone unnoticed by Randy and Batista.  He was leaning against a row of lockers regarding her with skepticism, his look cool and calculating.

In the meantime, Randy was mulling over the choice of sharing Paris' time and attention with Batista or not spending any time with her at all.  The former choice was definitely more appealing than the latter, but he was not quite ready to concede the hostility that he felt towards his friend for butting in.  Randy didn't think Batista was taking the bet seriously, but apparently, he was wrong.

"Well, I'm not really good at sharing," Randy replied, peevishly, eliciting a glare from Batista and a breathy little sigh from Paris.  She smiled at him as if he were a naughty little boy.

Paul rolled his eyes in exasperation.  Were they all completely retarded or just immature?  He hadn't witnessed such a juvenile display of behavior since his days with Stephanie—and that was saying a lot.

"That's good," Batista told him, plainly.  "Because I don't share—at all."  The bigger man stepped toward Randy in a challenging manner, practically crushing Paris between their immense frames.  Randy also stepped up, narrowing the space even more.

Paris had to admit that she had been in worse places that being stuck between Randy Orton and Batista.  In fact, her current position wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  The room had suddenly become very warm and she was starting to get light-headed as her senses were assaulted on all fronts by expensive cologne, bare skin and testosterone.

"Boys, boys, boys!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in an attempt to mediate.  "There's absolutely no reason to fight.  Like I said…"

But Paris was interrupted as she felt an arm slide around her waist, a hand resting possessively on her hip.  Glancing over her shoulder, she looked up into Paul's face as he guided her out from between his two associates.

"Gentleman, please," he said, overly solicitous.  "Give the lady some room to breathe."

Randy and Batista eyed Paul warily as he graciously escorted Paris to the door, thus ending the aforementioned argument.  It was pretty obvious that Paul was trying to get on Paris' good side and steal the thunder away from his partners.  Both Randy and Batista knew better than to challenge Paul out in the open.  He may have won the battle, but the war was far from over.

"You're right, Paul," Randy said as innocently as he could muster.  "I'm sorry, Paris—I didn't mean to act so immature."

"Me, too," Batista added.

"I'd still like to buy you a drink," Randy offered, hopefully.

"Me, too," Batista said, following suit.

Paris smiled and began to respond, but before she could say anything, Paul spoke for her.

"That's all well and good, guys," he said.  "But you'll have to get in line.  See, I already invited Paris to join me for a drink when we were talking in the back. Right, Paris?"

"Er…"

"And she said yes," Paul continued.  "But like she said, there's enough of her to go around."

"Well, I guess we'll see you later then, Paris," Randy replied, petulantly.

Paul smirked as it was obvious that Randy was not at all happy.  Batista was silent, shifting his weight as he conceded defeat to Paul—for now.  Paris simply looked confused.  Randy glared at Paul as he walked Paris to the door and bid her goodnight, even going so far as to cop a feel on her ass as she exited.  Paul closed the door and turned to face the angry stares of his teammates. 

"What the fuck was that?" Randy demanded.

"Yeah, what's the big idea?" Batista put in.

Paul shrugged, unconcerned.  "I'm just trying to win.  Isn't that what you two were doing?"

"Dude, she was putty in my hands," Batista stated.  "Until you had to butt in.  I'd bet another hundred bucks you never asked her out when she was back there."

"How do you know I didn't?" Paul countered.

"If you asked her out and she accepted, why did she look so pissed when she walked out here?" Batista asked.

"Who gives a shit why she looked pissed?" Randy practically shouted.  "I was the one who stepped up and asked her out!  And she was all mine until you two had to go and fuck it up!"

Paul chuckled.  "Randy, give it up.  I mean why don't you two fucks just pay me now and spare yourselves the embarrassment?"

"Who are you calling a fuck?" Batista demanded.

"Give it up?" Randy replied, livid.  "Oh no, I don't think so, Paul.  You see, this is no longer just a bet—it's war."

"Have it your way, Randy," Paul said, casually.  "It's your money."

Randy was about to shoot back a witty retort, but he was interrupted by a loud knock.  Paul put a finger to his lips as he answered the door.  There stood Paris, looking distraught.  For a split second, Evolution thought she had overheard their conversation.

"Hey, guys," she said, anxiously.  "My plan was to hitch a ride to the hotel with Shane, but I forgot to tell him to wait for me, so he left.  D'ya think I could get a lift?"

Randy and Batista exchanged glances as Paul very generously put his arm around Paris' shoulders and guided her into the hallway.

"Of course, you can ride with us," Paul offered in such a sickeningly sweet voice that Randy made a gagging gesture behind Paul's back.  "We wouldn't want to leave you stranded or anything.  Hey, Randy, get my bags for me," he ordered.  "C'mon, Paris."

Paris followed Paul down the corridor as Randy pulled on his shirt, glaring daggers at Paul's back.  Batista stayed behind and offered to help Randy with Paul's luggage.

"Who in the hell does he think he is?" Randy complained a few minutes later as they made their way toward the parking area with not only Paul's luggage, but their own hoisted on their shoulders as well.

"Duh—he's the world champion," Batista stated.

"That doesn't mean I'm his bitch!" Randy prattled on.  "I can't believe him!  Just swooping in and stealing Paris away!  And did you see her face?  She was too dumb-founded to even challenge him.  You know damn well he never asked her out.  You'd think a smart girl like Paris would be just a little suspicious when the guy who tried to have her fired three hours ago is suddenly falling all over himself to spend time with her.  And did you see what he did when she left?  He grabbed her ass!  And she didn't even say anything!"

"Would you calm down?" Batista urged in a hushed voice.  "Christ, it's not like you like her or anything.  You're just trying to win the bet—just like he is."

Randy snorted.  "Don't be stupid—of course, I'm just trying to win."  But his voice betrayed him ever so slightly and Batista caught on.

"You lie like a dog," Batista ribbed.  "You like her, don't you?"

"Dave, I don't even know her!"

"But you are attracted to her?"

"So?"

"And you are interested in more than just winning the bet?"

Randy finally gave in.  Sighing, he shook his head.  "OK, maybe a little.  Maybe I wanted a chance to get to know her.  I mean did you see how she stood up to Paul?  I like feisty women—although, she wasn't acting very feisty with him a second ago."

"OK, so then if you like her and wanted to get to know her, why'd you go and make a bet with me and Paul over who could nail her first, dumb ass?"

"I don't know—I guess it was pretty stupid."

"Ya think?"

"It's just this whole Evolution image that we have to live up to.  But it's all an act.  You know I'm not a dick like Paul is—my dad didn't raise me that way. And I don't think you are either."

Batista shook his head.  "You know me better than that.  So what're you gonna do?"

"I just have to figure out some way to get Paris away from Paul and all of his fake bullshit and get her into bed with me.  Maybe I'll just tell him I want out of the bet."

"He's not gonna let you welsh on your own bet.  And you can damn well better believe that he'll tell Paris what you're up to the second he gets a chance."

"You're right," Randy conceded.  "I guess I'll just go along with it as usual and hope I can persuade her to like me—and keep Paul from spilling the beans."

"Oh, what a wicked web we weave…" Batista warned.

"I know, I know," Randy muttered.  "Just say it—I'm doomed."

Batista gave a faint smile.  "You're doomed," he stated, frankly.

They turned down another corridor that snaked toward the garage.

"Listen, man," Batista began.  "If it's any consolation, I'll back off of Paris.  I'm not really interested anyway."

"How can you not be interested in Paris?  Are you gay or something?"

"Very funny," Batista replied, dryly as they stepped into the parking garage.  "Seriously, man, if you like her, I'll back off.  Besides, I like someone else."

"Seriously?"

"C'mon, Randy, you're my friend.  I'd do just about anything for you and John—we go way back to the OVW days."

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it.  So who is it?"

"What?"

"Who do you like?"

"I'll tell you later," Batista said, warily as they approached the limo.  "I don't want Paul to know."

Randy nodded, understanding, as they loaded up the luggage and got into the car.  Paul had already taken the opportunity to sit next to Paris and he was pretending to be interested as she told him about her life in Vegas.  Randy could see exactly what Batista meant.  It was never a good idea to give Paul a lot of personal information because he never forgot and he was always ready to use any such knowledge to his advantage.

Before long, the limo pulled up outside the Hilton and Paris thanked Evolution for the ride.  She could hardly believe that she had started the night at odds with them and now, they were acting like old friends.  Of course, she didn't completely trust Paul.  His voice was just a little too sweet and he was just a little bit overly ingratiating for her taste, but she didn't plan on spending a whole lot of time with them anyway.

Paris entered the hotel and went up to the front desk to find out what room she'd been moved to.  She knew from Chris that coordinators roomed with their wrestler and that someone—she wasn't sure who—was going to move her bags to his room at the behest of Shane.  Chris had also told her, when she had lied to him about having to do paperwork with Shane, that he would have a key held for her in case she got back too late to meet them at the hotel.  She already had a note with the name and address of the club so she would be able to find them.  Paris was about to ring the bell when she heard someone call her name.  

"Paris!" Chris called, striding towards her.

"Oh, hey, Chris," she replied.  "You haven't left yet?"

"Are you kidding me?" he snorted.  "We're still waiting for Amy and Trish to get ready."  He indicated a couch in the lobby where Jay and Rob Van Dam were sitting.  "Matt and Jeff already went ahead to the club."

"Can I help you?" the desk clerk asked, appearing from behind a door.

"Could I get that extra key I requested, please?" Chris said.

The clerk handed Chris a key card with a smile and then, left to answer a ringing phone.

"We're in Room 313," Chris told her, giving her the key.  "If you wanna go get ready, we'll wait."

"You don't have to.  I can just meet up with you at the club."

"We've waited this long for Trish and Amy," Chris stated with a note of irritation in his voice.  "By the way, Junior, if you were doing paperwork with Shano, how come he showed up over half an hour ago?"

Paris flushed, caught in her lie, and deftly avoided his eyes.

"And," Chris went on.  "Why did you show up with Evolution?"

Paris sighed.  "I was trying to bury the hatchet," she explained.  "It's bad enough having to be here and be the new girl without having those goons pissed at me."

"So you bit the bullet and apologized?"

"Pretty much."

"And did it work?"

"I dunno—they all offered to buy me a drink.  Paul seems a little overly gracious if you know what I mean.  It's still better than being at each other's throats.  Besides, what if I end up coordinating for them?"

"True," Chris agreed, glancing at his watch.  "How long is it gonna take you to get ready?"

"I just have to change shoes and freshen up."

"Well, get on it," Chris urged.  "If you hurry, I bet you get done before Trish does."

Paris laughed as she traipsed off to the elevator.  Once inside Room 313, she found all of her luggage neatly stacked by one of the two double beds.  She quickly touched up her make-up, brushed her hair, and slipped into a comfortable pair of black, chunky-heeled Doc Martin boots.  Thinking her shirt looked a tad rumpled, she changed into a tight black top that laced up the front and showed off her midriff.  Taking one last look, she glossed her lips and spritzed on some Jessica #3 before rushing out the door.  All in all, it took her about fifteen minutes.

As Paris went down the hallway, she heard giggling and familiar voices by the elevator.  Ducking behind a fake begonia bush, she observed Amanda, who looked fantastic as usual, and her two new friends, Sarah and Annie, who didn't look quite as terrific.  Sarah was a bit on the frumpy side and Annie had a huge rear end that didn't seem in proportion with the rest of her body.  They were laughing and gossiping much like Paris had been earlier with Trish and Amy.  Paris felt a pang of jealousy, but she brushed it away dismissively.  Amanda was making new friends, just like Paris was—it didn't mean that they weren't still best friends.  She was suddenly jolted out of her pondering when she heard them mention her name.

"Your friend, Paris, is probably going to Miami Moon with the wrestlers," Sarah stated, a tinge of envy in her voice.

"Is that where we're going?" Amanda asked.

"Oh, no," Annie told her.  "We don't hang out with the wrestlers."

"Besides, Miami Moon is crowded and expensive," Sarah said.  "We're going to Marta's—it's more laid back and a lot more fun."

They continued to chat about the Lafayette nightlife until Sarah made a nasty comment about how she had heard a rumor that Paris already had half the locker room, including Evolution, panting after her.

"I wonder what she did to get back on their good side," Sarah insinuated, snidely.

Paris felt a stab of hurt as she noticed that Amanda made no move to defend her.  Not only was she hurt, but she was pissed off as well.  Amanda knew that Paris wasn't promiscuous, yet she just stood there and let those two snags talk trash about a person that was supposedly her best friend.  Finally, the elevator arrived and Paris was spared hearing any more 'rumors.'  The trio disappeared, leaving her standing alone in the hallway, her face burning with indignation.  With great difficulty, Paris managed to fight back hot tears at Amanda's apparent betrayal.  Of course, betrayal wasn't exactly the right word.  Betrayal implied some sort of action—Amanda had just stood there.

"Paris, is that you?" a voice called, startling her.

She turned to see Trish and Amy making their way toward her.  

"Paris, what's wrong?" Trish asked, concern mirrored in her eyes.  "You look like you're about to cry."

"Oh, it's nothing," Paris told her.

"Come on, spill it," Amy said.  "I knew it!  I bet it was Van Dam!"

"No, it's not Rob.  It's Amanda."

"Who?" both women asked.

"My friend from the ring crew.  Those two girls, Sarah and Annie, were saying mean things about me and Amanda just stood there and let them."

Trish put a gentle arm around Paris' shoulders.

"Forget them," Amy said.  "You have us now."

"Yeah," Trish agreed.  "That Sarah's a major troublemaker anyway.  She used to work in Ohio Valley Wrestling—that's the WWE's farm league.  Vince signs developmental talent there and sometimes, he sends WWE stars there if they need to work off an injury or get into shape—stuff like that."

"I had to wrestle there for a couple months after I got medical clearance on my neck," Amy explained.

"Anyhoo," Trish went on.  "That Sarah caused so much grief that Jim Cornette's secretary, Tammy, had her transferred to SmackDown.  Then, to get even, she slept with Tammy's boyfriend, Brock Lesnar—he's the SmackDown world champion.  Somehow, she wormed her way over here."

"Why didn't this Tammy just fire her?" Paris queried.

"They couldn't prove anything," Trish explained.  "Besides, you can't fire someone for being a slut.  Working for the WWE is considered to be a big promotion from OVW.  The way I see it, Tammy should have come to SmackDown and left that dumb ho in OVW."

"Why didn't she?" Paris asked.

"Well, it would have made sense," Trish continued.  "She met Brock in OVW and if she'd gone to SmackDown, they could have been together, maybe worked out some of their problems."

"Yeah, but being Jim Cornette's secretary is a seriously peachy job, being that he runs OVW almost single-handed," Amy stated.  "My guess is that she didn't want to give it up for something less important.  I mean there aren't really any executive assistant positions here."

"I don't know," Paris remarked.  "By the looks of all the papers on Shane's desk tonight, he could use an executive assistant."

Amy shook her head as they waited for the elevator to come back.  "It's the same thing with Katie."

"Who's Katie?" Paris inquired.  She was learning more than she ever dreamed of knowing, not just about the WWE, but this OVW place as well.  Wrestling seemed to be a lot more political than she could have imagined.

"She's OVW's head designer," Trish said.  "Her boyfriend, John Cena, used to wrestle in OVW as Prototype.  But then, he got the call up from the WWE, just like Brock.  If she transfers, she'll be demoted down to a wardrobe assistant."

"And Katie's way too fucking talented for that," Amy said, matter-of-factly.  "So she and John have to deal with a long distance relationship—that is unless they fire that incompetent bitch on SmackDown and give her job to Katie."

"Or if Colleen quits," Trish put in.  "God forbid, of course, because we love her, but if Shane doesn't stop pissing her off, she's gonna tell him to shove it.

"So did Tammy dump Brock?" Paris asked as the elevator finally arrived.

"In a New York second," Trish told her.  "And she told Amy if she ever runs into Sarah, she's going to knock the shit of her."

"And Tammy would, too," Amy laughed.  "From what I've seen, that Sarah is a total bitch and it sound like she has your friend completely fooled.  But I don't think you should stress about it.  Van Dam, jerk off that he is, is waiting downstairs to show you a good time and I mean, come on, girls—we seriously need to have some drinks."

Paris and Trish agreed as they stepped into the elevator and waited as it lowered to the lobby.

"Matt left me a voicemail earlier," Amy said.  "He said the Moon's not completely packed this time."

"Chris is gonna freak out if we don't get down there," Trish commented.

The elevator doors opened and the girls strolled into the lobby, getting several appreciative glances from a group of businessmen, who were checking in.

"Finally!" Chris shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Jay had fallen asleep on the couch and he was startled awake by Chris' outburst.  Rob had been tearing pages out of magazines and making paper airplanes.

"You can't rush beauty," Trish told him, pettishly.

"Let's just go," he said, thoroughly annoyed.  "Wake up, ass clown!"  He swatted Jay on the head, causing him to sit up and look around, somewhat disoriented.

Rob went outside followed by the others and hailed a cab, shrugging innocently at Paris as Jay yawned loudly, Chris continued to bitch, and the girls started squawking like a couple of ruffled hens.  Amid all they chaos, they piled into a cab and headed to Miami Moon for a much needed night out.

**Please review.  Thanks.**

**------Evilution**


	8. Too Many Drinks

Chapter 8 – Too Many Drinks

By Evilution

Disclaimer: The reference to Linus Caldwell comes from the movie Oceans Eleven and is the name of Matt Damon's character.  Also, I don't know if Rob Van Dam has ever worked as a bouncer, but it had to be one of them.  Enjoy!

            Miami Moon turned out to be a very swanky nightclub over on East Simcoe.  Paris wasn't sure what Matt's idea of packed was, but it seemed pretty busy for a Monday night.  Being that he was her date, Rob paid her cover charge.  The bouncer let everyone in without question—except Paris.  As expected, she got carded, which seemed to amuse Rob to no end.  He was still teasing her even after they had entered the club.  Of course, Paris had a fake ID because she was only twenty, but she wasn't going to let on that she was underage.  After all, she had just met these guys.  She had gotten her ID from her dad's friend, Linus Caldwell, who was one of the best forgery artists in Vegas and it had never been questioned.  Paris spotted Evolution across the club, surrounded by women.  Much to her relief, she didn't think they saw her come in.

            Matt and Jeff were playing pool toward the back of the club and had saved a buddy bar for their friends.  Rob asked everyone what they wanted to drink and disappeared toward the bar.  He returned a few minutes later, followed by a waitress, who set a pitcher of beer and some glasses on the table, as well as a margarita for Amy, a Smirnoff Ice for Trish, and a Crown Royal and Diet Pepsi for Paris.  Rob paid the waitress, gave her a generous tip, and eyed Paris with amusement as she sipped her drink.

            "What?" she asked, playfully, when she noticed him staring.

            "Let me see your ID," Rob joked.

            "Why?"

            "Just because."

            Paris sighed as she handed her driver's license to Rob.  He examined it thoroughly before handing it back to her with a grin.  

            "Just as I thought," he said, matter-of-factly.  "But I have to admit that's a pretty kick ass forgery."

            "What do you mean—forgery?" Paris squeaked, almost choking on her drink.

            "That thing's a fake," Rob laughed.  "I used to be a bouncer back in Battle Creek--I can spot 'em a mile away.  I'm surprised that dude at the door didn't notice."

            Paris flushed slightly, but didn't reply as Rob carefully scrutinized her face, his left cheek dimpling with mirth.

            "So I'm not going to get arrested for contributing to a minor or lewd acts with a minor or anything like that," he teased, leaning close to her.

            Paris smiled, blushing once again, as Chris, who had been listening, joined the conversation.

            "So exactly how old are you, Paris?" he interjected.

            "I'm old enough," she stated, a little defensively.  "I've been clubbing since I was seventeen.  Most of the time in Vegas, I didn't even have to show my ID.  Everyone knows my father and they just let me in as long a I promised not to gamble.  The NGC is stricter than the cops."

            "Rico used to be a Vegas cop," Jay commented.

            "Rico Constantino?" Paris asked.

            "Yeah, do you know him?" Jay replied.

            "More like I know of him," Paris stated.  "He's one of the most decorated officers in Vegas—and he was the first American Gladiators winner.  Is he a wrestler?"

            Trish nodded.  "You remember Jackie Gayda?  She's his valet."

            "Speaking of the hooker herself," Amy remarked as Jackie strutted by in an extremely revealing outfit.

            Even though Jackie was a very pretty girl, Paris had to agree that it was a bit risqué the way she dressed and acted, although Jackie didn't seem to care much as long as there was a plethora of guys around to hit on her.  Paris was about halfway through her drink when Amy and Trish, who were bored with they guys ignoring them for a game of pool, decided it was time to do some shots.  Paris followed them up to the bar and after a round of Lemon Drops and a round of Panty Droppers, she had to admit that she was feeling pretty good and all thoughts of Amanda had drifted out of her mind.

            The girls went back to the pool table, hoping the guys would be done and the dancing could begin, but the pool tournament was far from over.  Jay, believing the direction the night was taking and using fatigue from his match with Jericho as an excuse, begged off and went back to the hotel.  Matt and Chris were now locked in a best of seven doubles game with Rob and Jeff.

            "Chris," Trish whined in her best little girl voice.  "You promised you'd dance with me?"

            Chris, who had gotten over his earlier irritation with Trish's tardiness, glanced back and forth between his friends and his girlfriend.

            "Aw, baby, we're right in the middle of a best of seven," he reasoned in a boyish tone.  "We're almost done and then, we'll dance.  Is that cool?"

            Now, it was Trish's turn to be irritated.  "Well, what did we even come along for if all you guys are gonna do is play pool?"

            "Quit bothering us!" Jeff exclaimed in a perturbed voice as he tried to focus on sinking the five ball in the corner pocket.  He didn't have a girlfriend that he had to worry about offending.  "Wasn't there enough excitement up at the bar to keep you occupied?"

            "By all means, keep bothering him," Chris joked, trying to lighten the mood.  "Trish, honey, I promise we're almost done, OK?"

            "Go dance with each other," Matt told them with a knowing smirk.  "Girls do that all the time."

            Amy rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.  "Well," she said, glaring at Matt.  "I guess since you guys are PLAYING with each other…"

            "Give it a rest, Ames," Matt said, annoyed.  "I'm trying to relax with my friends—I don't need you to bust my balls about it, OK?"

            Amy flushed, recoiling slightly at Matt's rudeness as Trish and Chris raised eyebrows in unison at the shock of Matt's insensitive tone.  Obviously, he had other issues going on and decided to take it out on Amy.  Nevertheless, she was still pissed that he chose that moment to humiliate her in front of their friends.

            "Fine!  I'll just go dance by myself!" Amy spat, angrily.  "That way I won't be accused of busting anyone's balls!"  She turned and stomped toward the dance floor with Trish hot on her heels.

            "Well, good luck," Paris said, cheerfully, trying to lighten the dark look on Matt's face as he watched Amy disappear into the crowd.

            "Matt, it's your shot," Chris urged, finally able to deter Matt from staring after his girlfriend.

            Paris hung around to watch Matt totally blow a very easy shot, allowing Rob to sink the eight ball and take the game.  Rob gave her a dimpled smile as he high-five Jeff while Chris tried to console Matt and psych him up for the next game.  She gave them a quick wave and rushed off to find her friends.  

            Paris managed to push her way through the crowd and finally found Trish and Amy sitting at a buddy bar on the edge of the dance floor.  Trish gave her a warning look as Amy tossed down a shot of tequila.  Paris was beginning to realize that things might not be as rosy as they first appeared when it came to Amy and Matt's relationship.

            "That fucker!" Amy cried.  "He does this to me every time we go out.  I don't know why I even bother!"

            "Because you love him," Trish offered.

            "Do I?" Amy shot back.

            "Look, forget them—we can have fun without a bunch of stupid men.  Or should I say overgrown boys?" Trish commented.

            "Trish, you don't have to pretend you're mad at Chris just because I'm mad at Matt," Amy said, smiling faintly at her friend's loyalty.

            "Well, I have to admit, Chris was a lot nicer about it than Matt was," Trish pointed out.  "But that doesn't mean he's completely off the hook.  The only reason I'm not mad at Chris is because I know I'll be getting some extra attention later if ya know what I mean.  Chris can't stand it when there's even an inkling that I might be mad at him.  I say screw them—let's just hit the dance floor and have fun, which is what we came here to do in the first place—what d'ya think?"  Trish looked hopefully at Paris, willing her to say something positive to get Amy out of her black mood.

            "Trish is right," Paris declared, taking Amy by the hand.  "I mean, look at Rob—he's supposed to be my date and all, but what's he doing?—playing pool with the boys when he could be exploring Paris."

            Amy laughed, despite her tears, and was about to follow Paris to the dance floor when a huge shadow fell across their table.  Paris, Amy, and Trish all looked up to see Batista standing before them, his huge biceps practically bulging out of his tight T-shirt.  His dark eyes flashed with concern as they remained locked on Amy's tear-streaked face.

            "Excuse me, ladies," he said in a soft, polite voice.  "I couldn't help but notice that you seem pretty upset, Amy.  I don't know if I can help, but could I interest you in a dance, maybe to help lighten the mood a little?"

            Amy's mouth fell open as Trish stared at Paris in shock, obviously stunned at how articulate the man was.  Amy wiped her eyes quickly and threw a disdainful look over her shoulder at Matt and the others.  Seeing that Matt was still engrossed in his pool game and not making any move to apologize, she took the hand Batista was offering and smiled.

            "Sure, what the hell," she said, jumping off her barstool, a tad unsteady.  "It's not like my boyfriend wants to dance with me or anything!"  She held onto Batista's hand and followed him into the crowd.  

            Trish and Paris stared in amazement as a slow song began and Batista engulfed Amy in his gigantic arms.  Being that she was 5'9" in heels, Amy wasn't completely dwarfed by him like most women would be.  They watched as she put her cheek against his heart, her red hair spilling across his massive chest.  Paris nudged Trish and inclined her head toward Evolution's table, where Randy Orton and Paul Levesque had been watching the ensuing scene with keen interest.  Trish returned Paris' look of skepticism, both of them wondering exactly what Batista was up to.

            Meanwhile, only moments earlier, Paul elbowed Randy, nearly causing him to spill the beer he was drinking, and pointed dramatically at Batista, who was leading Amy onto the dance floor.

            "What in the hell is he doing?" Paul exclaimed.

            Randy rolled his eyes.  Was the man blind or just stupid?  "It looks like he's dancing with Amy Dumas," he replied, lazily.

            "Yeah, but why?  He's supposed to be seducing Paris."

            Randy didn't really know why Dave was dancing with Amy, unless…of course, it had to be!  Amy must be the 'someone else' that Dave liked.  Randy couldn't believe he hadn't seen it until now.  Naturally, he didn't say a word to Paul, pretending to be vaguely annoyed with Paul's comments.

            "How should I know?" Randy snapped.  "I missed the part about it being my turn to baby sit Dave this week."

            "What's up your ass?" Paul shot back.

            "Nothing," Randy replied.  "I'm gonna go take a piss."

            "Thanks for sharing that," Paul said, dryly.  "I think I'll go ask Paris to dance."

            Randy shrugged indifferently as he set his beer down and rose to go to the bathroom.  Inside, his mind was racing.  He couldn't let Paul get a dance with Paris, if not to protect his own interests, there was still the bet.  Waiting until Paul wasn't looking, he turned away from the restrooms and doubled back across the upper level.  Keeping an eye on Paul, he noticed that the crowd was working to his advantage.  Randy smirked as he took a quick right, descended three steps, and came up right next to Paris' table just as Paul pushed his way through the crowd.

            "Hey, Paris," Randy greeted, casually, as he placed his arm around her chair.

            "Randy, what a surprise," she lied.  She had seen Evolution when she walked in the club and despite her earlier doubt that they had seen her, she knew differently.  She had a feeling that they had known all along that she was there.

            Paris looked up as Paul approached the table, giving Randy a cold stare that indicated that he knew he had just been tricked.  'You little son of a bitch,' Paul thought, competition getting the better of him.

            "Oh, hey, Paul," she replied.

            "Good evening, Paris, Trish," Paul said, still glaring at his young teammate.  The air was thick with the undertone of a challenge.

            Randy shrugged nonchalantly, choosing to ignore the tension.  He didn't waste a second getting to the point.  "I just noticed the two of you sitting here and since you're the hottest chicks in this place, I figured I better ask you to dance before some lowlife came over and started hitting on you," he explained.

            "Which one of us?" Trish asked with an arched eyebrow.

            "Well, both of you, of course," Randy stated, smiling winningly as Paul continued to glare at him.

            Randy stepped aside allowing Paris and Trish to jump off of their barstools.  He began to guide them toward the dance floor, giving Paul a mockingly innocent shrug over the girls' heads.  He cocked his eyebrow, daring Paul to pick up the gauntlet.

            "Do join us, Paul," he offered, sarcastically.  If the challenge hadn't been on before, it was definitely go time now.

            "I think I'll do that." Paul remarked, putting his arm lightly around Trish's shoulders.  "What d'ya say, Trish?"

            Trish eyed him suspiciously, but then, relented.  "What the hell," she retorted, smiling.  "At least, you're trying to be semi-charming."

            Paul chuckled, leaning closer to Trish.  "You know me, Trish.  Of course, I wouldn't dream of treading on Jericho's territory, but I have a feeling you and I may have to do a little babysitting if you know what I mean."  He indicated Batista and Amy, who were still plastered up against each other even though the slow dance had ended minutes ago.

            Randy high-fived Batista over Amy's head as Paris nudged her slightly, causing Amy to pick up the tempo of her dancing since it was obvious that the effects of her tequila shots were taking hold.  However, the space between her and Batista remained just as narrow even though the song was faster.

            One hour and more than a few drinks later, the girls were still dancing with Evolution, their dates long forgotten, noses still buried in their game of billiards.  Amy was utterly intoxicated and Paris was well on her way down that road also.  Deciding to maintain some semblance of sobriety, Trish had switched to club soda and was sitting at the buddy bar with Paul, choosing to dance only when things appeared to be getting out of hand.  Indeed, she did feel like a babysitter, glancing regularly at her friends on the dance floor, making sure all was kosher.  For the most part, Amy and Paris were sticking with Batista and Randy respectively.  Paul seemed content to keep Trish company, but every so often, he would foray onto the dance floor and take over while one or both of his fellow Evolutionaries would rush up to the table for a swift drink of beer and then, it was back to the action.  Usually, when Batista and Randy came back to the table, they managed to persuade Trish to join the party, pulling her enthusiastically into the crowd.

            Paul had to admit to himself that he was having a reasonably good time, even though he was still slightly pissed off at Randy for monopolizing Paris.  But he let it slide, figuring that this was only her first night.  He planned to bide his time until he could convince Shane to have Paris coordinate for Evolution.  At least, he was getting to dance with her a few times.  Much to his surprise, Trish Stratus turned out to be a relatively pleasant companion and Paul flirted unashamedly with her, noticing the mounting tension every time she glanced back at the billiard area.  Obviously, her irritation with Jericho was growing by the second.  Paul was about to ask her what she intended to do about it when she suddenly stood up.

            "I think we're on babysitting duty again," Trish remarked, pointing towards the others, a look of contempt on her pretty face.

            Paul's gaze flickered towards the dance floor and he did a double take.  There was Amy, bent over in front of Batista, rubbing her butt against his crotch in time to the music as her vivid red hair flew in all directions.  Batista didn't seem to be too overly upset about this and Paul couldn't say that he blamed him.  Paris had unbuttoned Randy's shirt and she had her back to his chest, grinding sensually against him.  Randy had his arms around her waist, a look on his face that switched from blissful ecstasy to immense smugness when he saw Paul watching.  Periodically, his hands would travel across her bare stomach, up to her chest where they would graze her breasts ever so slightly.  Much to Paul's chagrin, Paris seemed to be enjoying this, closing her eyes and smiling seductively every time Randy did it.  One time, he even went so far as to brush his hands upward, causing her little half-shirt to lift up and giving Paul a glimpse of two ample, flesh-colored half moons, indicating that Paris chose not to be encumbered by a bra.  He wondered if she had the same mentality about panties.

            "You think we should go break it up?" Paul suggested to Trish.

            "You know what?  I'm sick of playing mommy tonight," Trish declared.  "You wanna dance?"

            "I'd love to," Paul replied, taking her hand and allowing her to lead him out to the dance floor.

            However, Paul and Trish's presence did nothing to quell the display that was going on between the other two members of Evolution and their dance partners.  Paul had to take a second glance once again as Amy finally broke away from Batista and pulled Paris into a girl-on-girl dance.  You couldn't have fit a piece of paper between them as they continued to bump and grind to the music, eventually culminating in a quick kiss, a la Brittany and Madonna, much to the delight of Randy, Batista, and several other nearby male patrons.  Trish rolled her eyes and turned away from the scene, refusing to deal with her inebriated friends anymore.

            Paris couldn't believe what a great time she was having, even though she couldn't say the same for her friends.  Amy appeared to be having fun, but in all honesty, she was so impaired that she probably didn't even realize what she was doing.  Batista was being a good sport, dancing with her and practically holding her up at times.  Trish had stopped drinking about an hour ago, her anger at Jericho's insensitivity changing into an uncomfortable feeling of indifference.  Although she was trying to maintain a semblance of casual relaxation, it was obvious that she was keeping a vigilant watch to make sure Paris and Amy didn't cross any lines.  Paris had noticed that Trish wasn't drinking and was casually keeping an eye on their behavior and their surroundings.  Normally, Paris would have been mildly uncomfortable at the thought of someone keeping tabs on her, but on second thought, she convinced herself that it was probably a good thing that Trish was looking out for her.  After all, she was intoxicated and she didn't know any of these people very well.  In fact, it had only been a few hours ago that she was trading insults with Evolution and they had gone to Shane and tried to have her fired.  Now, she found herself having more than a few fairly indecent thoughts about one Randy Orton.  Blushing, Paris had to admit to herself that Rob Van Dam, who was supposed to be her date, hadn't crossed her mind for quite some time.  She was also betting that Amy hadn't given much thought to Matt since his previous outburst and Trish's only notions of Jericho right now were of how she was going to make him suffer for ignoring her and lying to her about how long he was going to be occupied with his friends.  

            Paris pushed these thoughts out of her mind, unable to focus on anything too cerebral at that point.  All she could think about was how attracted she was to Randy.  True, he had been a jerk earlier, but one would have to be blind to not see how amazingly hot he was.  As if to read her mind, Randy turned her around to face him, locking his arms around her waist and pinning her against him.  Paris sighed, gazing into his sparkling blue eyes, as she felt his warm hands slide up the back of her shirt and move around to lightly brush the sides of her breasts.  Instinctively, she reached up and linked her arms around Randy's neck, inhaling the scent of Obsession and trying to get as close to him as she could.  This action caused her shirt to ride up slightly and her soft skin met his bare chest.  Randy gasped, reveling in how good her skin felt against his.  He bent his head, moving in to capture her barely parted lips in a kiss, but they were interrupted as Amy collapsed onto the floor, laughing hysterically. 

            Paul was relieved that Amy had chosen that moment to lose all semblance of control.  He had been sharing a slow dance with Trish, mindful to keep a chaste distance between them, when he glanced over at Paris and Randy just as his young teammate was moving in for a kiss.  Amy had been passionately kissing Batista as they slow-danced, oblivious to the fact that Matt Hardy was less than ten yards away, when she suddenly lost her balance.  Trish immediately broke away from Paul and helped Batista get Amy to her feet.  Paris remained in Randy's arms as she giggled giddily at her friend's apparent incapacitation.  But Paul was happy nonetheless.  The kiss had been stopped.

            Batista and Trish began to guide Amy toward their table while Paul hung back with Randy and Paris.  Another moderately slow song started and before Randy could capitalize, Paul stepped in and asked Paris to dance.  She accepted, much to Randy's consternation, and allowed Paul to sweep her into his huge arms.  Paul smirked pimpishly at Randy over Paris' head, earning a baleful glare in return as Randy stalked off toward the buddy bar where he asked Trish to dance.  It looked like Trish was trying to beg off, using the excuse that she was helping Amy, but Batista dismissed her with a wave of his hand, apparently taking charge of Amy's care.  Paris winked playfully at Trish, who forced a smile, as she and Randy began to dance.

            Paul held Paris tightly against his chest, careful not to take the liberties that Randy was, but still commanding her attention.  Paris looked into his dark eyes, trying to detect some iota of warmth, but there was none.  His eyes didn't captivate her, like Randy's deep blue ones did.  For just a moment, she felt afraid, but she pushed this fleeting notion away, silently scolding herself that she was being ridiculous.  Paul was the world champion and a high-profile wrestling star.  She had no real reason to fear him.  Nevertheless, she couldn't help wishing that it was her in Randy's arms instead of Trish.  Frankly, Trish appeared to be wishing the same thing, her mind elsewhere as she kept glancing at Amy, a mixture of disappointment and concern crossing her beautiful features.

            As quickly as the dance had started, it was just as quickly over and an upbeat tune took its place.  Amy seemed to recover from her previous malaise and was unsteadily pulling Batista onto the dance floor.  Paris continued to dance with Paul, but also made a point to revert her attention to Randy from time to time.  Randy, in return, smiled suggestively at her, giving her the impression that he wished they were alone.

            About halfway through the song, they were all startled by a loud commotion over by the pool tables.  Apparently, two guys were having a heated argument about some girl, who appeared to be standing nearby being consoled by her friends.  Out of nowhere, there was the sound of breaking glass as a table overturned.  The crowd on the dance floor began milling around, trying to see what was going on.  Paris glanced up and noticed Chris, Matt, Jeff, and Rob surveying the situation with interest.  Jeff leaned over and whispered something to Chris as they both looked toward the entrance where four police officers were making their way through the crowd.  Paris felt a rising sense of panic.  She was underage and new to the WWE.  The last thing she wanted to do was be a participant in any scandal involving the wrestlers and the locals.  

            "We need to get out of here," she told Trish as she leaned across the buddy bar and grabbed their purses.

            "There's no way we're gonna get to the front door in this crowd," Trish replied.  "We just have to sit tight until it breaks up."

            "No!" Paris shouted.  "We have to leave!"

            "What's the big deal?" Trish exclaimed.

            "I'm not twenty-one!" Paris hissed.

            Realization dawned on Trish, her eyes wide and her mouth forming a tiny O.  What if the situation got out of control and the cops busted everyone?  Taking her and Amy's purse from Paris, she grabbed Paul, immediately commandeering his attention.

            "Can you get us out the back door?" she demanded.

            Paul looked around, studying the scene.  "That shouldn't be a problem.  Why?"

            "We need to get out of here."

            "Why?" Randy put in.  "It's just a little disagreement."

            "Little disagreements can turn into big brawls," Trish stated, glancing at Paris.  "We're all high profile—we don't want to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, especially you, Paul."

            "She's right," Paul agreed.  He pointed at Batista.  "Dave, you and I'll lead the way.  Have you got her under control?" he asked, indicating Amy.

            "She's fine," Batista replied.

            "Good.  You two stay in the middle," he ordered Paris and Trish, taking charge.  "And Randy can bring up the rear."

            The fight had yet to be broken up as they made their way toward the rear exit.  Words were still being exchanged as cops tried to separate the two men.  The noisy crowd was getting restless, wanting to see a fight.  Paris gripped Randy's hand and linked her other arm with Trish as they followed Paul, Amy, and Batista out the back door.

            Meanwhile, only moments earlier, Rob and Jeff had been celebrating their win over Matt and Chris when shouting erupted at the neighboring pool table.  Two guys, who were obviously drunk, were having some sort of a row, probably about a girl.  Before the guys knew what was happening, a table was upset and glass had shattered everywhere.  Soon thereafter, Jeff pointed out that the cops had arrived and were making their way toward the billiard area.

            "We need to leave," Chris said, calmly, his eyes scanning the crowd.

            "We didn't do anything," Rob replied.

            "Those cops take one look at us and they're gonna think we were involved because we're wrestlers," Chris explained.

            "Where are the girls?" Matt questioned, focusing on the dance floor.

            Chris also glanced in that direction as Rob and Jeff nonchalantly replaced their pool cues and began to make their way toward the front door.  The ensuing fight had not broken up and the crowd appeared to be trying to push its way forward to get a better view.  Chris' eyes narrowed in annoyance as he spotted a small group of people heading toward the rear exit.  It was Trish and Paris being led by Triple H and Batista, who was holding Amy up.  Randy Orton was following them, holding hands with Paris so as not to get separated.  Matt had seen them as well and Chris noticed his dark eyes flashing as a muscle twitched in his jaw.

            "Let's go," Chris said, tapping Matt's shoulder as the girls disappeared from sight.  "I'm sure we'll run into them outside."

            Matt followed Chris to the front door where they exited the club and met up with Rob and Jeff, who were standing casually outside.

            "Where's everyone else?" Rob asked as Chris and Matt approached them.

            "He means the girls," Jeff put in.  "Do they even know we left?"

            "Oh, apparently not," Matt replied with sarcasm.  "They were too busy sneaking out the back door with Randy, Paul, and Batista."

            "Evolution?" Rob said with a puzzled look.  "What're they doing with those clowns?"

            Matt and Chris both shrugged.  "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Chris commented.

            Matt shook his head.  "Yeah, fuck 'em—let's go back to the hotel," he said with a feigned air of machismo.  His regrets about his earlier behavior with Amy were tempered by his anger at her departure without him.

            Jeff hailed a cab as Rob slapped Matt on the arm to let him know they were leaving.  Matt kept staring toward the alley as if he were hoping the girls would suddenly appear from somewhere.

            "Matt, they're obviously gone.  Let's just go," Chris urged as Rob and Jeff got into the cab.

            "How can you be so goddamn calm?" Matt exploded.

            "Because I have no choice," Chris replied, quickly.  "My consolation is that I know Trish.  She'd never do anything to compromise our relationship, even if I was being an ass clown earlier."

            Matt clenched his fists, part of him wanting to hit something until it felt as bad as he did and another part trying to punish himself for being in this situation in the first place.  He wanted to tell Chris that he had heard the same song and dance about Jessica at one time and look how that turned out.  But he held his tongue.  Chris was his friend and didn't deserve such a low blow.  It wasn't Chris' fault that he and Amy had fought.  Chris held the cab door open, waiting for Matt to climb in and after he did, Chris shut the door and got into the front seat.  Within minutes, they were back at the hotel, congregated in Chris' room.  There was nothing else to do besides wait.  Feeling restless, Jeff turned on the TV.  He didn't really have a vested interest in the situation being that none of the girls were with him, but he wanted to hang out with his friends and be supportive of his brother.  On top of all that, he was just plain nosy.

            Earlier, back at the club, the girls were ushered out the back door by Evolution and into a waiting limo that was parked in the alley parking lot.  Paris ended up sitting between Randy and Trish, Randy's arm swung casually over her shoulders.  Amy laid down on one of the seats with her head on Batista's lap, eyes closed and a small smile on her lips.  Paul suggested going to another club, but Trish nixed the idea, stating that they needed to get back to the hotel and meet up with Jericho and the others.  Trish couldn't speak for Matt, but she figured that Chris was probably wondering where she was and he was undoubtedly concerned with the whereabouts of his coordinator, being that it was Paris' first night on the job.

            The limo pulled up in front of the Hilton and Paul got out to hold the door for the girls.  Trish gently shook Amy awake and with a little help from Paul, pulled Amy out of the car and into a standing position.  Batista exited the vehicle next and held out his hand in an attempt to assist Paris, but Randy slid his arm around her tiny waist, reached over, and pulled the door shut, so that it was just him and Paris inside the limo.  He touched a button on the console, locking all the doors, as Paul and Trish knocked on the tinted windows--Paul insisting that Randy continue partying with him and Trish wanting to call it a night and protect Paris' interests.  Batista finally managed to get them to stop disturbing the young couple by reminding them that Paris and Randy were adults and it was time for all of them to move on.  

            "I just wanted to say goodnight to you in private," Randy told her, pulling her close.

            "Oh," she replied as little tingles raced up and down her spine.

            "Is it OK if I kiss you?" he asked, respectfully.

            Paris nodded, unable to speak as Randy cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers in an explosive kiss.  Tiny gold stars flashed behind her closed eyes as his tongue gently stroked hers and his hands tangled in her soft blond hair.  Very slowly, Randy moved his hands down to her sides until his fingers were tracing over the bare skin just above the waistline of her jeans.  He then let his hands roam up her back and under her shirt, his fingertips like little flames licking her skin.  Paris ran her delicate hands up Randy's bare chest, his shirt still unbuttoned from the club, and twined her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened and he grasped her back, pulling her tightly against him.  Very deliberately, he ended the kiss, but continued to massage her back as Paris threw her head back, allowing him to trail light, feathery kisses along her jaw line and down to the hollow of her throat.

            Meanwhile, outside the limo, Paul was fit to be tied that Randy had managed to seclude himself with Paris.  Noticing the confused stares from Trish and Amy, he abruptly shifted modes and tried to appear inconspicuous as he casually announced that he was going to the hotel bar.

            "You coming, Dave?" he asked Batista over his shoulder when he saw that Batista was making no move to follow him.

            Batista glanced at Trish and Amy, a final reassurance that they were OK and didn't need him to wait with them.

            "I'll be right there," he said, somewhat annoyed as he started to leave, not really enthralled with the idea of spending anymore time partying with Paul.

            But he couldn't quite walk away without leaving some sort of a lasting impression on Amy.  Turning quickly, he seized her arm and pulled her against his chest, his muscular arm snaking around her waist.

            "I know you're really intoxicated," he whispered.  "And you probably won't remember any of this, but—what the hell…"

            Throwing caution to the wind, Batista twined his other hand in Amy's fiery red hair and bent her head back as he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.  Amy stood on her tiptoes and laced her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as Trish stood by with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently and trying not to stare, although there wasn't much else to occupy her attention.  Paul put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes, sighing loudly with irritation.  Not only that, but Paris and Randy still hadn't come out of the limo.

            The kiss finally ended, but Batista continued to hug Amy tightly, lifting her a few inches off the ground.  

            Amy giggled in his ear.  "Do it again, do it again," she urged, laughing.

            Batista set her down, his eyes flickering warily over her head at Trish, who shook her head and shot him a thoroughly disapproving look.

            "Maybe some other time," he offered as he glanced sideways and got an equally perturbed look from Paul.

            "Promise?" Amy pouted.

            "Guarantee," Batista said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before walking off in Paul's direction.

            Amy unsteadily made her way over to where Trish was standing and leaned up against the wall, all the while receiving a scathing look of reproach from Trish.

            "What?" Amy finally shouted, sick of the pretty blond staring at her.

            "Do you really think that was appropriate?" Trish replied in a crisp tone.

            "Shut up," Amy told her, trying unsuccessfully to push a lock of stray hair out of her eyes.

            Trish was about to retort when the limo door flew open and Randy Orton jumped out, his designer shirt still unbuttoned and flapping in the light breeze.  He offered his hand and helped Paris out of the car as she nonchalantly tried to smooth her hair and her shirt.  Trish cocked her eyebrow knowingly as she eyed Paris' flushed cheeks and the boyish smirk on Randy's face.  Obviously, there had been some heavy-duty snogging going on in the limo.

            "Where'd Paul and Dave go?" Randy asked, looking around.

            "They went to the hotel bar," Trish informed him.

            "Another bar?" Randy replied, incredulously

            He paused, apparently giving serious thought to whether he wanted to join his friends or not.  After all, he had spent the last few moments making out with Paris, so he didn't really think his night could get any better, especially if it meant getting the third degree from Paul.  When he heard that Paul and Dave were at the bar, he really wanted to ask Paris to come up to his room with him, but on second thought, he didn't want to push the envelope too far with her on the first night.  Finally, he shook his head.

            "Fuck it—I'm going to bed.  Can I walk you ladies to your rooms?" he offered with a suggestive wink at Paris.

            That was the final straw for Trish.  All she wanted to do was get herself and her friends back to their rooms so she could concentrate on finding Chris.  She hoped he hadn't seen her leave with Evolution, but there wasn't much she could have done about it.  They had to get Paris out of there.  She just wished that if Chris had seen her that he would understand.

            "No, thank you, Randy, but that won't be necessary," Trish commented, taking Amy by the arm.  "I think we've all had a somewhat eventful night to say the least.  I'll see that Paris and Amy get to their rooms safely."

            Paris shrugged, smiling, and Amy rolled her eyes.

            "I guess it is pretty late," Paris conceded as Randy took her hands in his.  "I need to be up early."

            "We'll go out again?" he suggested, hopefully.

            "Definitely," Paris assured him as he bent to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

            "I'm in Room 186 if you change your mind," Randy whispered, sexily, in he ear.

            He gave her another quick kiss and hurried inside, making an obvious effort to turn in the opposite direction of the hotel bar.  The girls also went inside and rode the elevator up the third floor without saying a word.  Paris shifted nervously, uncomfortable with the awkward silence.  It appeared as if Trish was upset with her for kissing Randy.  The last thing she had wanted to do was make a bad impression on her first night.  The elevator doors opened and Trish had to nudge Amy, who was sleeping against the wall.

            "I feel like shit!" Amy complained, loudly.

            "Just wait until tomorrow," Trish warned, sarcastically.

            "I probably look like shit, too," Amy went on.  "Thank God I'm not back on TV yet."

            They reached Amy's room and Trish unlocked the door, having taken Amy's key card from her purse.  The room was dark and empty, no sign of Matt anywhere.  The redhead immediately went for one of the beds and lay down, fully clothed on top of the covers.

            "Amy, are you OK?" Paris asked, trying not to giggle.

            "I'm fine," Amy mumbled.  "Just gonna pass out, dream about Dave…"

            "OK," Paris replied as Amy's voice trailed off and Trish pulled her out of the room.

            Trish suggested first checking their room to see if the guys had come back to the hotel.  As they walked down the hallway, Paris decided to test the waters.

            "Trish?"

            "Yeah?"

            "Are you mad at me?"

            Trish sighed.  "No, Paris, I'm not mad at you, but I am worried, especially since you're new to the company.  I didn't realize how young you are.  What in the hell was your dad thinking sending you into an environment like this just for the purpose of teaching you a lesson?"

            "I don't know," Paris replied, truthfully.  "I guess he figured Vince would be looking out for me.  I don't think he realizes that Vince doesn't have time to concern himself with things like that."

            "Well, my best advice is that you take care of yourself and don't look at it like you're being punished--you decide why you're here and make the best of it," Trish sagely suggested.

            Paris nodded in understanding, but in her slightly tipsy state, she quickly changed the topic.

            "So," she smiled, nudging Trish playfully.  "Randy's hot, isn't he?"

            Trish laughed softly, amused at Paris' youth.  "I have to admit he is, but all I can say is be careful—I'd hate to see you and Amy become the flavors of the week."

            "Yeah, what was up with her and Batista?  I mean isn't she with Matt?" Paris inquired.

            "You know, she does this every time we go out," Trish went on, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.  "I don't mean she makes out with guys all the time—in fact, that kind of threw me for a loop tonight.  It's just that there's always some issue between her and Matt and then, she ends up getting wasted."

            "Well, Matt was kind of being a dick," Paris put in.

            "He's always like that.  When we go out, Matt likes to hang with the guys and play pool or darts or whatever.  He doesn't like to dance and get crazy—he just likes to kick back.  But not Amy—with her it's party, party.  They're like fire and ice.  I don't even know why they're still together."

            Paris had been concentrating so much on what Trish was saying that she didn't even realize that they were now standing in front of Room 313.  Trish fumbled in her purse for the key card as Paris leaned against the door and yawned loudly.  Apparently, Trish was also staying in the same room with her and Jericho.

            "What the fuck—I swear if I had one more lipstick in this freaking purse, I could open my own business," Trish complained, still digging for the card.

            Suddenly, Paris felt the door give away and before she could stop herself, she had fallen across the threshold as Chris had opened the door.  She now found herself lying on the floor, staring up at Trish, who, despite her earlier mood, couldn't help but laugh, and Chris, who looked slightly less amused.

            "Jesus Christ!" Paris exclaimed, noticing Matt, Jeff, and Rob in the background and immediately becoming embarrassed.  "Give me a little warning next time!"

            Chris bent and helped Paris to her feet as Trish tried to stifle her laughter upon seeing the dark look on Chris' face.  By now, Paris had also dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles as she flopped on her bed next to Jeff, who was watching TV, apparently uninterested in the drama surrounding him.

            "I'm glad to see you had such a grand old time with Evolution," Chris stated, somewhat caustically.

            "It wasn't like that," Trish insisted.

            "Tell me, what was it like, Trish?" Chris asked, impatiently, hands on his hips.

            "We were only dancing with them because you guys were ignoring us," Trish began.

            "You guys were being dicks," Paris interrupted, giggling tipsily.

            "Anyway," Trish went on, trying to explain.  "When that fight broke out and the cops showed up, we had to get Paris out of there because she's underage.  We couldn't get to you guys through the crowd.  Chris, I swear nothing happened with Evolution—they just gave us a ride to the hotel.

            "Speak for yourself!" Paris teased, rolling around on the bed and earning a jealous glare from Rob at her suggestive comments.

            Chris' demeanor softened somewhat as he ignored Paris and focused solely on Trish.

            "I knew it had to be something like that," he declared, pulling Trish into a hug.  "I'm just glad you're OK, but why'd you let her get so wasted?" he asked, indicating Paris.

            "She was fine when we left," Trish said.  "It must be just hitting her now."

            "Where's Amy?" Matt suddenly demanded.

            "We walked her to your room and she passed out," Trish told him.  "Don't go wake her up and start more issues."

            "I'm going to bed," Matt stated, disregarding Trish's comments.  "You coming, Jeff?"

            Jeff hesitated momentarily, not really thrilled with the idea of sharing a room with Matt and Amy in their current state.

            "I think I'll crash in Rob's room tonight," Jeff replied.  "You and Amy probably need the privacy to sort out your…um, issues."

            "Whatever," Matt said as he curtly bid everyone goodnight and left the room.

            Jeff and Rob were the next ones to rise and move towards the door.  Before they left, Rob glanced at Paris, the disappointment in his eyes evident.

            "Thanks for a not-so-memorable first date," he remarked in a sharp voice.

            Paris detected the hint of sarcasm and jumping off of the bed a tad unsteadily, she followed him to the door.

            "Are you like, pissed or something?" she questioned, flippantly.

            "Why would I be pissed?" Rob retorted.  "You were only supposed to be on a date with me, but instead, you leave holding hands with Randy Orton—now, why would I be pissed about that?"

            "Look, I'm sorry, OK?" Paris replied.  "I guess I wasn't too keen on spending my first night in jail."

            "If you're not twenty-one, you shouldn't be in a bar in the first place."

            "Umm, OK—thanks, Dad!"

            "Look, Paris," Rob said, trying to control his anger at her overly cavalier attitude.  "It's not my place to tell you what to do—we just met and all.  It's not like I'm your boyfriend or anything.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised—you being so young.  I just don't appreciate being led on."

            "I didn't lead you on!" Paris exclaimed.

            "Bullshit!  You were flirting with me left and right in that locker room—wasn't she, Chris?"

            "Don't get me involved," Chris said, holding up his hands.

            "I guess if I'd have known how young you were," Rob continued.  "I wouldn't have taken it so seriously.  But hey—that's cool.  I guess we'll just be friends."

            "I wish everyone would just shut up about how young I am!" Paris shouted.  "I'm almost twenty-one and I don't appreciate being treated like a child.  I'm only here because my father is a sick, twisted person, who apparently, has gotten so bored with being the richest man in Vegas that he thought it would be fun to torture me by sending me here to co-exist with people like you and Triple H and your asshole brother!"  She paused for a breath as she pointed at Jeff.  "I'm sorry if I bruised your ego, Rob—but I'm free, white, and almost twenty-one, and I'll go home with whoever the fuck I want, OK?!"

            "Cool," Rob replied, regarding her outburst as if he could have cared less.  Paris was hot, but he wasn't interested in playing games with a spoiled brat.  Let her amuse herself with someone more her age, like Randy Orton or Mark Jindrak or someone like that.  Rob didn't have the time or the patience for it.  "Well, goodnight," he said, casually as he turned and strolled down the hall with Jeff.  Now, whose ego was bruised?

            Paris stared at their backs for a few seconds before slamming the door.  Ignoring Chris and Trish, she stomped into the bathroom where she showered and changed into her pajamas, all the while still perplexed by what had happened.  Rob's devil-may-care attitude had thrown her off course.  Men usually fawned over her.  Being treated like shit wasn't something she was used to and she definitely didn't like it.  Fuck what he said—it don't mean jack, she thought rebelliously.  After all, she still had Randy.

            And moments later, while Trish and Chris were sound asleep in the other bed, Paris crawled under the covers and dozed off with one subject still fresh in her mind—Randy Orton.

            Evolution definitely was a mystery.

Sorry it took so long to update—this was a long chapter.  Please review and let me know if I should continue.  Thanks for your patience.

**--------Evilution**


	9. Regrets and A Fight

Chapter 9 – Regrets and A Fight

By Evilution

            Paris awoke the next morning to the sound of Chris' voice echoing out of the bathroom as he sang several bars of Ozzy Osbourne's 'Crazy Train.'  Trish was up as well, sitting on the bed in her underwear putting on makeup, and everything seemed, for the most part, copasetic between her and Chris.  Paris wondered how things were faring in Matt and Amy's room or if Amy remembered any of her activities the previous night.  Chris stepped out of the bathroom wearing jeans and a Fozzy T-shirt and announced that he was going downstairs to get some coffee.  He asked if the girls wanted anything and then, seemed to regret his offer after he heard their order.  Trish asked for a double caramel machiatto with skim milk and Paris ordered a raspberry and white chocolate iced latte with whipped cream and extra sprinkles.  She reached for her purse, but Chris waved his hand dismissively at her offer of money and headed out the door carrying a hand-written note with the girls' drinks on it, muttering something about why no one drinks plain black coffee anymore.

            After he had left, Paris got in the shower and turned the water on as hot as she could bear.  A few minutes later, Trish knocked on the door to ask Paris if it was OK if she did her hair and let her know that the coffee had arrived.  Paris stepped out of the shower, feeling undeniably better and quickly toweled off as Trish put the finishing touches on her hair, twisting it into a very complicated-looking knot on the top of her head.  Paris wrapped herself in a large, fluffy towel and glanced warily out the door, not wanting to parade half-naked in front of Chris.

            "Chris isn't here," Trish told her, sensing her hesitation.  "He took most of the luggage down and said he'd just hang with the guys and wait for us."

            "I hope he left the ones I need," Paris replied as she sprinted over to what was left of her bags.  Much to her relief, Chris had taken everything except her big suitcase, her main carryon, and her makeup case.  The clothes she had planned on wearing were still lying neatly on the bed where she had left them.

            "You really should consider ditching some of that luggage," Trish suggested, helpfully.

            "Trust me, I plan on doing just that during this time off," Paris assured her.  "I feel guilty that someone keeps having to haul it around.  After all, I am the travel coordinator—I should be carrying Chris' luggage instead of foisting mine off on him."

            "Here's your coffee, babe," Trish said, handing her a plastic cup topped with whipped cream.

            "Thanks, I hope it helps.  I feel like shit."

            "You want some food?"

            "No, please—no food.  Any word from Amy?"

            "No, I didn't want to call and be nosy if Matt's in one of his moods."

            Paris didn't answer, but in her opinion, it seemed like Matt could be kind of an asshole when the notion struck him.  She continued to worry about Amy as she threw her towel on the floor and started covering herself with pear-scented lotion.  She hoped that Trish wasn't embarrassed by her lack of modesty.  Paris glanced over at her friend, who was pulling jeans and a shirt out of her bag, seemingly oblivious to Paris' state of undress.

            "I hope your not offended by my exhibitionism," Paris said, jokingly.  "It's just I know we're in kind of a hurry."

            "Doesn't bother me," Trish remarked.  "I get dressed and undressed in the women's locker room every night, so I'm used to it."

            "I played volleyball my freshman year at UNLV and lived in an all-female dorm for a year, so I usually don't think twice about it," Paris stated, pulling on her underwear and a white T-shirt.

            Trish laughed, noticing that once again, Paris decided to forego a bra.  "You don't wear a bra?" she commented.

            "Don't have to," Paris replied.  "They're fake."

            "No way!" Trish exclaimed.

            "Yep, I got em when I was sixteen.  I used to be totally flat, so when I turned sixteen, my mom let me get a nice C cup—you know, to help my self-esteem.  I had that procedure where they go through your belly button, so I don't have any scars.  It hurt worse though."

            "I got mine when I was fitness modeling," Trish said, glancing at her own ample chest.  "But I have the little scars underneath.  They've faded quite a bit—lots of vitamin E lotion, you know."

            "Well, you look great," Paris told her.  She got the feeling that Trish Stratus, as beautiful as she was, tended to be a bit self-conscious about certain things—among them, those 'little scars.'  

            "Thanks, so do you," Trish said.  "Colleen was right—you should be a diva."

            "Oh, stop!" Paris retorted as she sprinted back to the bathroom to do her hair and makeup.

            "So back to Matt and Amy," she prompted, changing the subject.  "What's his issue anyway?"

            Trish shrugged.  "I think it's because we're all on RAW and he's on SmackDown.  As soon as Amy gets back on TV, she's gonna be on RAW, too."

            "Well, he doesn't have to be such a dick about it," Paris commented as she dabbed moisturizer onto her face.  "By the way, Trish—about last night, everything's kind of fuzzy after the limo ride.  I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?"

            "Besides making out with Randy?"

            Paris rolled her eyes.  "That's not embarrassing—it's just stupid."

            "Good point—anyway, no, you didn't embarrass yourself until we got back to the room."

            "Oh, great—what did I do?"

            "Well, first, you fell through the doorway and then, you yelled at Rob," Trish stated between sips of her coffee.

            "I yelled at Rob?  Why?"

            "You got mad at him because he kept making comments about how young you are and acting like he didn't care that you dogged him.  Oh, and you told Jeff that Matt was an asshole."

            Paris shook her head.  "Jeez, quite the auspicious debut—wouldn't you say?  I guess I better make a list of people I need to apologize to."

            Trish waved her hand.  "Don't worry about it.  Jeff and Chris were pretty amused by the whole thing, but…you might want to talk to Rob, especially if you want that relationship to go any farther."

            Paris had just finished her makeup and was now starting on her hair.

            "Maybe it's best if I don't get involved with anyone.  I mean all I ever do is make a big mess out of relationships and I don't want it to be like that, Trish.  I want people here to like me and I really want to do well here.  No, I've made up my mind—no more relationships.  No one deserves the aftermath of Hurricane Paris."  And with that, she turned on her hair dryer, thus preventing Trish from responding.

            While she was finishing her hair, Chris popped in and took the rest of the luggage down, leaving each lady with just their purse and one carryon.

            "Hey, Trish," Paris called from the bathroom.  "Where's the show tonight?"

            "Oh, didn't Shane tell you?"

            "Tell me what?"

            "We're off Tuesday through Thursday.  Travel coordinators usually tag along with their wrestler on their days off if the wrestler needs their services.  Usually they leave it up to you if you want to go with them or go home."

            Paris smiled, sadly.  "What if you don't have a home?"

            "Well," Trish said, grinning.  "There's one particular travel coordinator that's more than welcome to stay with us wherever we go."

            "Thanks so much, Trish," Paris said, tearing up slightly as she hugged her friend.  "And I'm sorry if I did anything rude or stupid last night."

            "Oh, you were fine," Trish scoffed.  "And to quote Rob, you're young—it's in your nature to do stupid stuff sometimes."

            The girls giggled as Paris quickly wiped her eyes before her makeup ran.  She was truly overwhelmed to have met such nice people, who were already taking her under their wing and being loyal friends.

            "So where are we going?" Paris asked.

            "Matt has a SmackDown taping tonight in New Orleans and a bunch of the RAW stars are doing personal appearances at a trade show.  After that, it's two days of partying in the Big Easy."

            Paris' eyes lit up with excitement.  She had never been to New Orleans before, but she was also worried about how she was going to afford it.  She hadn't bothered to ask when she was going to get paid, but then again, there was always her credit card.  Of course, Danny had told her it was strictly for emergencies and this was sort of an emergency—she hadn't known about the days off and therefore, had made no plans or provisions for it.  She wondered if Randy was going as well.  She also wondered if Amanda knew about the off days and what her plans were.

            "Do you think Randy's going?" she wondered aloud.

            "I doubt it," Trish replied.  "I didn't see his name on the trade show roster.  Besides, it takes an act of God for Evolution to do anything outside the ring that involves entertaining or pleasing the fans.  I mean I don't doubt that they do their share of pleasuring female fans, but this isn't quite the same thing.  Are you almost ready?"

            Paris glanced at the clock as she threw the remainder of her personal items in her carryon.  She pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into a pair of canvas tennis shoes with little cherries on them.  She and Trish did a quick inventory of the room to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything before grabbing their bags and their coffee and rushing downstairs to meet Chris.

Earlier that morning in Evolution's hotel room, Paul and Batista were fit to be tied, waiting for Randy to wake up so they could pump him for information about what happened with Paris.  Paul was particularly concerned about whether or not Randy had sealed the deal on their bet.  He was genuinely impressed with how smooth the kid turned out to be, going so far as to cop a few feels on the dance floor and ending the night by secluding Paris in the limousine while Paul sat in the hotel bar and fumed over being one-upped by his young teammate.  The idea of losing the bet to Randy was unacceptable to Paul.  In fact, by the time Randy finally broke down and talked to him, Paul was so anxious, he was pacing the room like a caged tiger.

Randy, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber.  He knew that he had won major points with Paris by being a gentleman.  He also knew that he had bought himself some time.  For although he appeared calm and collected, his mind was like a steel trap, racing to figure out how he was going to get out of the bet and convince Paris that he really liked her without raising Paul's suspicions or Paris finding out about the wager.  Keeping Paul at bay was the challenge.  He couldn't let on that his interest in Paris was anything more than trying to win.  Randy knew that Paul was like a shark.  If he even caught a whiff of blood, he wouldn't hesitate to do everything he could to make Randy out as the asshole and thus, further his own cause with Paris.

Knowing that curiosity was killing the cat, Randy had managed to put his friends off even longer by taking a half hour long shower and dressing in the bathroom.  But he couldn't postpone the inevitable and he knew that the suspense was killing his teammates.  He didn't have a problem confiding in Batista, but Paul was another story.  He exited the bathroom and began casually packing his bags.

"So let's have it, lover boy," Paul said, mockingly.  "What happened in the limo?"

"Nothing—yet," Randy replied, his voice taking on an arrogant tone as he arched his eyebrow.  "But, trust me, buddy—it's all but signed, sealed, and delivered.  You might as well just pay me now."

"Oh, really?" Paul retorted, chuckling slightly.  "So what you're saying is that you failed miserably, right?"

"I got farther than you did."

"Fine, so let's have the dirt then."

"He doesn't have to tell us if he doesn't want to," Batista said, firmly, knowing full well that Randy did not consider Paul a worthy confidant.

"Screw that," Paul shot back.  "Come on, Randy—it's not like we haven't figured it out.  We know you didn't fuck her, so at least tell me you got some oral gratification out of the deal."

Randy spun around, frustrated but not surprised at Paul's lack of tact.  "You know—enough!" he shouted.  "What happened between me and Paris is just that—between me and Paris!  Is your sex life that pathetic, Paul, that you have to hound me about mine?"

Batista smirked inwardly.  It was nice to see Randy finally stand up to Paul.

"I beg to differ, Randy," Paul replied in a conceited tone.  "But there's still the matter of a little wager the three of us have going, so therefore, it is my business."

"Don't worry, Paul," Randy stated, confidently if not somewhat sarcastically.  "When it happens, you'll be the third to know."

"Yeah, and as for that wager, count me out," Batista put in.

"And why are you wussing out?" Paul demanded, turning to face Batista.  "Its just sex, man."

"She's not my type," Batista said.  "She just doesn't do anything for me, so count me out, OK?"

"You mean she's not a redhead," Paul taunted.

Batista's spine stiffened, but he chose to ignore the comment.

"What's the matter, Dave?" Paul went on.  "Afraid Amy Dumas might get jealous?"

"It has nothing to do with Amy Dumas," Batista replied, a little more forcefully than he intended.  His jaw muscle was twitching with irritation.  "I just think it's juvenile, OK?"

Paul snorted.  "If you think she remembers anything about last night, you're sadly mistaken, big man.  She's back with Mr. Hardy Boy and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

"You know what?" Batista exclaimed as he stepped up to face Paul in a challenging manner.  "My personal life is none of your goddamn business.  Just because you think you can push Randy around and pry into his shit doesn't mean it works with me.  I may be a member of Evolution, but I'm not your bitch—get it?"

Paul chuckled mockingly as Randy watched the exchange in silence.

"I said do you get it?" Batista replied, enunciating each word very carefully, his meaning crystal clear.

The sardonic smile suddenly faded from Paul's face when he realized that Batista wasn't kidding and not only that, seemed to be telling him off in so many words.  He locked eyes with the bigger man, wanting very much to ask Batista just who in the hell he thought he was talking to, but he thought better of it.  The stony look on Batista's face told Paul that his teammate was seriously pissed and not about to take any crap.  Paul was, by no means, intimidated, but he didn't want to mess with Batista when it came to guy/girl matters and he made a mental note that the subject of Amy Dumas was obviously off limits.

"You two are pathetic," Paul stated as he hoisted his bags on his shoulder and exited the room, a frustrated and slightly pissed look on his face.

Batista continued to clench and unclench his fists for several moments after Paul left the room.  He didn't know what it was, but sometimes, the man infuriated him to no end.  On one hand, Paul was extremely intelligent and relatively cool to hang out with, but on the other, he had the tendency to take his Triple H character a little too far, acting as if he were lord and master of all that lay before him.  Paul couldn't stand to not be the center of the universe and be involved in anything and everything around him.  It was practically eating him up inside to give up his precious World title to Goldberg, and Batista knew that even though Paul could care less about Paris and would discard her as soon as he got what he wanted, the thought of losing her to Randy, or worse, to Batista, was more than Paul's colossal, yet fragile, ego could handle.  Luckily, Batista had taken himself out of the race, respecting the fact that Randy, who was his friend, had genuine feelings for the girl, and besides, Batista had other interests to pursue.

When Randy finally finished packing his bags, he and Batista made their way down to the lobby.  As they were walking, Batista cocked his eyebrow and jabbed Randy in the ribs with his elbow.

"So are you ever going to tell me exactly what did happen in the limo?"

Randy smiled.  "I just kissed her goodnight, man."

"Yeah, right—like on how many places on her body did you kiss her goodnight?" Batista laughed.  "You forget—I was outside practically the whole time.  You were in that limo too long for just a goodnight kiss."

"Yeah, well, what about you and Amy?"

"Don't change the subject."

Randy rolled his eyes, exasperated.  "We made out, OK?  Are you happy now?  I mean I know the suspense was killing you—do you think you can sleep at night now that I've told you?"

"That's not suspense," Batista told him.  "You said you kissed her goodnight, which I have to consider the fact that you're both still young, so a kiss goodnight means heavy make out session.  I already had that figured out—what else, man?"

"Nothing, OK?  What do you want from me?" Randy exclaimed, trying to sound impatient, but realistically, he was just coming off sounding coy.  

"Pictures, a video—come on, Randy!  There's gotta be more to it than that.  I mean did she touch you?  Did you cop one—what?

Randy turned toward Batista, an incredulous look on his handsome face.  "I'm not some lust-driven pervert, man," he stated in a temporarily self-effacing tone.  "I do have morals, you know.  And feelings!  God, you guys think that just because I'm a little bit popular with the ladies that I'm some sex-crazed animal who gets laid all the time!" Randy went on, his voice now taking on a somewhat noble air.  "For your information, I was a total gentleman in that limo and if you asked Paris, I'm sure…no, I'm positive she'd echo that sentiment, thank you very much!"

"OK, settle down," Batista told him.  "I'm not Paul, OK? Chill out."

"Fine," Randy added, still indignant.  "And just so you know, I did not 'cop one.'"

"OK, man, whatever."

"Just because I casually brushed my hands across her oh-so-perfect breasts does not mean I 'copped one,'" Randy said, switching gears for the sake of macho humor.

Batista laughed, shaking his head.  "I knew you were lying like a dog."

"Can you blame me with you guys hassling me day and night?"

"So," Batista continued, stroking his chin.  "You know you just opened up a whole new can of worms.  Now, I have to ask—over or under?"

"God, you are such a perv, man—didn't you get enough dry humping from Amy last night?"

"Answer the question!"

"Under and she wasn't wearing a bra."

"You suck," Batista said, enviously.

"That'll come later," Randy laughed.  "And she has one of her nipples pierced."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"I'm serious, man."

"I swear, Randy, you have all the luck."

"I have all the luck?  What about you and the lovely Miss Dumas?"

"Yeah, and where did she end up last night?  I'll tell you—back with Matt Hardy, that's where.  Besides that, she was drunk off her ass—you think she remembers anything?"

Randy raised his eyebrows.  "I bet she does."

"Why?  Because I'm that unforgettable?"

"No, man, I think she likes you.  I hear rumors about her and Hardy."

"What kind of rumors?"

"Just that he's not very nice to her sometimes.  A lot of people think he's jealous of her popularity."

"I find out that little punk isn't being nice to her, I'll break him in half," Batista stated, his anger beginning to bubble up inside of him.

"See—you do like her!"

"Of course, I like her, Randy, but the feeling isn't necessarily mutual."

"Well, don't give up on her.  After all, she's just a chick—there's no way she can deny your animal magnetism."  Randy gave Batista a mockingly innocent look before bursting out laughing.

"Fuck you!" Batista joked, joining in on the laughter.  "Just don't tell Paul, OK?" he requested, sobering slightly as they entered the lobby and began approaching Paul, who was at the front desk.

"That goes for you, too," Randy said, seriously.  "Not a word about Paris, OK?"

Meanwhile, Paris tucked the last of her luggage into one of the cargo vans that would be following their bus to wherever they were going, making a silent vow that she was going to sort through her belongings during her days off and ship what she didn't need home to Vegas.  She looked around and recognized several of the wrestlers and divas that she had met last night standing around the same bus she was on.  Along with Chris, Trish, Jay, Rob, Jeff, and Shane Helms, she noticed Shawn Michaels, Steve Austin, Bubba Ray and Dvon Dudley, Rene Dupree, Rob Conway, Mark Jindrak, Garrison Cade, Rico, Jackie Gayda, Steven Richards, and Victoria.  She still hadn't seen any sign of Randy or the rest of Evolution for that matter.  There had also been no sign of Matt and Amy, which was who they were all standing around waiting on.  Paris was about to go inside and get another latte when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.  She turned around and came face to face with Amanda.  Much to her annoyance, Sarah and Annie were lingering in the background.  

"Amanda," she greeted, coolly.  She couldn't believe that in one day they had gone from best friends to barely speaking.

"Did you forget something this morning, Paris?" Amanda asked, equally frosty.

"Like what?"

Amanda rolled her eyes.  "Like breakfast?"

Paris blinked.  In all honesty, she had forgotten, but she didn't really think Amanda had been serious.  She had just thought breakfast had been her friend's way of placating her.

"I'm really sorry, Amanda—I did forget.  Can I get a rain check?" she suggested, trying to smooth the waters and get Amanda to stop glaring at her.

But Amanda's icy demeanor didn't melt.  "I see," she replied.  "One day here and you're already acting different with your new friends.  You know, Paris, you do this to me every time someone 'better' comes along and I always take you back—no questions."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Paris demanded as Trish moved to stand next to her and both Sarah and Annie stepped up to flank Amanda.

"Every time you meet someone new or start dating a new guy, it's 'so long, Amanda.'  But then, when you get hurt or dumped or whatever, you come running back to me.  Well, I've had enough, Paris!  I'm done!"

"That's ridiculous!" Paris shot back.

"Is it?" Amanda went on.  "You never think of me or how anything affects me.  I bet you didn't know that we have three days off, did you?  I bet you didn't even consider what I was going to do or where I was going to go.  Lucky for me, Sarah and Annie invited me to stay with them."

"How nice of Sarah and Annie," Paris retorted.  "For your information, I just found out about the days off this morning and I also found out that I have to go with Jericho because I'm his coordinator.  I'm sorry that you're not my number one priority right now, Amanda!"

"I'm never a priority to you, Paris."

"So—what?  Are you saying you don't want to be friends anymore?  Is that what you're saying?" Paris challenged.

Amanda sighed.  "You know we came here for an adventure, Paris.  Maybe we just need to experience that adventure in our own separate ways.  Maybe we need some time apart."

"We were supposed to be in this together," Paris reminded her.

"Yeah, well, you didn't even want to come here, remember?  Besides, that was before we got put in different jobs."

"You were the one who volunteered to be on the ring crew, Amanda, so don't even think of blaming me for that!"

"I'm not blaming you, Paris.  I'm actually happier on the ring crew—they're more my kind of people."  Amanda gave Trish a sidelong glance as she spoke as if to insinuate that Trish definitely wasn't her 'kind of people.'

Paris was relieved that Trish chose to ignore the look, not really caring what this Amanda person thought of her.

"Anyway, Paris," Amanda went on.  "I think you have a lot of issues with loyalty, among other things, and maybe this time apart will give you the space you need to sort out those issues."

Paris snorted in disbelief at her friend's supercilious tone of voice and attitude.  She was one to talk about loyalty, especially after last night.

"Loyalty?" Paris exclaimed, incredulous.  "Would that be what you were displaying by the elevator last night when these two snags were talking trash about me?  I mean they totally insinuated that I wasn't much better than a common whore and you didn't say a word, Amanda!  You just stood there—is that what you call loyalty?"

Amanda had the good grace to flush slightly, knowing exactly what Paris was talking about.  However, Sarah chose this moment to step into the conversation.

"I never said anything that wasn't true," Sarah remarked.  "Everyone was talking about you and how you were all of the sudden on good terms with Evolution after all the unpleasantness at dinner.  Besides, we heard all about you and Randy Orton last night."  She gave Paris a snotty little smile as Annie nodded in agreement.

"You heard what about me and Randy Orton?" Paris shot back, calling her bluff.

"We heard that you were all over him at Miami Moon and that you left with him…"

"It must be nice that your life is so pathetic that you have nothing better to do than worry about what Paris is doing," Trish stated, eyeing Sarah with contempt.

Sarah opened her mouth to retort, but apparently, thought better of challenging Trish Stratus.

"It's just what we heard," she conceded in an arrogant tone.

"Well, here this," Paris said, her rage boiling to the surface.  "You don't know me, Sarah—you don't know anything about me, so the next time you feel the need to open your big fucking mouth and talk shit about me, I swear to God, I'll kick your fat, fucking ass all the way up to that Ohio Valley place because I here there's a girl up there who you fucked her boyfriend, so I'm sure she'd like a go at you as well!"

Sarah glared at Trish, knowing full well that she must have been the one who told Paris about Tammy and Brock.  Still, she chose not to speak up.  After all, it was Trish Stratus she was dealing with.  On top of that, a small crowd of wrestlers and ring crew had gathered and were watching the ensuing confrontation with morbid fascination.  Instead, she turned back to Paris, an ugly sneer on her face.

"You think you're so cool," she told Paris, scathingly. "Just because you're the daughter of some Vegas gangster!"

Paris flinched at this blatant insult, but recovered quickly.

"I'd rather be some gangster's daughter than some fat bitch whose only claim to fame is that she fucked Brock—what's his name?"  She glanced at Trish.

"Brock Lesnar," Trish replied, her eyes riveted on Sarah.

"Yeah, Brock Lesnar," Paris repeated.

"For you information," Sarah shouted, turning to Trish.  "And you can pass this along to that bitch, Tammy—Brock came on to me!"

"I don't know this Brock Lesnar person," Paris retorted, sarcastically.  "But was he drunk or just plain stupid?"

Sarah's eyes narrowed coldly.  "Fuck you!" she said with finality as she turned and stormed off towards the other bus.

"Ooo, you really got me with that one," Paris mocked.  "Where did you get that stunning vocabulary—Harvard or Yale?"  She turned her back to get on the bus as several of the onlookers laughed.

"Bitch!" Sarah screamed, grabbing an open bottle of water and tossing it in Paris' direction.

Paris froze as ice cold water splashed all over her back, soaking her T-shirt and trickling down the back of her jeans.  Not to mention, the force of the full bottle gave her quite a thump—she knew she'd probably have a bruise by evening.  She looked around as Trish, Chris, and several others wiped splashes of water off of their faces and clothes as they glared unpleasantly at Sarah.

Needing no further provocation, Paris jumped off of the bus steps and made a beeline toward Sarah, her fists balled at her sides and her stride purposeful.  Sarah's eyes got wide as she watched Paris approach, but she couldn't very well run with everyone staring at them.  After all, she was the one who threw down the gauntlet.  All she could do now was hold her breath and brace for the worst as Paris chose to pick it up.

"Come on, bitch!" Paris shouted, shoving Sarah roughly.  "My back's not turned!  Why don't you do something to my face?"

Paris pushed Sarah a couple more times before Sarah shoved her back, which prompted Paris to grab Sarah's shirt and a small tussle began as obscenities flew from both parties.  Sarah made a feeble attempt to grab a handful of Paris' blond tresses, but Paris knocked her arm away and swung her own hand back as if to strike Sarah, but the blow never connected.  A pair of strong arms grasped Paris around the waist and lifted her slightly off of the ground, pulling her away from any further physicality.  Sarah continued to shout insults as Randy Orton set Paris down and used his own muscular body as a barrier between the two female combatants.  Paris tried to dodge around him, but he gently grabbed her arms, preventing her from escaping.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted.  "What the hell is going on here?"

"That fat bitch is dead!" Paris screamed, pointing threateningly at Sarah, who was being pulled toward her bus by Amanda and Annie.  "Fucking look at me!  The bitch threw a water bottle at me—I'm soaked!"

"Calm down!" Randy told her, putting his arm around her and leading her towards her friends.  "If Shane catches you fighting, you're in deep shit!"

"Are you OK?" Trish asked, her eyes glittering with excitement.  Obviously, looks were deceiving—Paris definitely wasn't some shrinking violet Barbie doll.

"She's fucking lucky I didn't beat her ass!" Paris shouted, once again pointing toward Sarah, who had disappeared onto her bus.  She noticed that Matt and Amy had joined the crowd during the melee—Matt regarding her with skepticism and Amy looking on with admiration.  She also saw Paul and Batista observing the situation with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"You go, girl," Amy said.  "Way to not take any crap.  What happened anyway?"

"The bitch threw a bottle at her!" Trish exclaimed.  "Paris was just defending herself."  She turned to Paris.  "Don't worry—if she rats you out to Shane, we all saw what happened."

"She won't say a word to Shane," Chris put in.  "She started it."

"Who the fuck is she anyway?" Randy asked.

"She's the fat bitch who screwed Brock," Amy explained.  "You know, the one Tammy wants to kick the shit out of."

Randy nodded, understanding, as did Batista, who had come to stand next to him.  Batista's presence seemed to unnerve Amy slightly as she shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes by busying herself with picking imaginary lint off of her shirt.  Paris wondered how Evolution knew about the Ohio Valley situation, but she didn't have a chance to ask as Shane came barreling toward them, his arms once again loaded with papers and a cell phone glued to his ear.  He smiled distractedly at Paris before climbing on the bus.

"Hey, Randy, we need to get going," Paul called from their limousine as Batista went over to join him, knowing that his chances of talking to Amy were slim and none with Matt Hardy hanging around.

"Just a second," Randy snapped, annoyed.  He pulled Paris off to the side as her friends boarded the bus.

"I'm sorry you had to see me act like that," Paris said, her heartbeat returning to normal.  "I just don't take shit like that off of anyone."

Randy chuckled.  "It's OK—I kind of liked it."

Paris laughed.

"I just didn't want you to get in trouble," Randy went on.  "I mean if you got fired or suspended, we wouldn't get to see each other anymore."

"That would be bad," Paris said, quietly.

Randy didn't respond, but nodded in agreement as they both fidgeted in the awkward silence.

"So…what are you doing for your days off?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm just going to New Orleans with Chris and everyone.  I didn't know we were off, so I didn't really plan for it."

"You could have come with us," Randy offered.

"Thanks, but…"

"Paris, let's go!  We gotta hit the road!" Chris yelled out the door.

"Coming!" Paris called back.  "I gotta go," she told Randy.  "I'll see you this weekend?"

"I'll be looking forward to it," Randy replied as he bent and gave her a quick kiss on the lips before running off to join his friends in the limo.

Paris waved at him as she climbed on the bus, her blond hair flying in the breeze.  She had to wonder exactly where their strange relationship was heading and secretly, she hoped that it was somewhere pleasant.  But she had more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.  She had absolutely no idea how she was going to get to New Orleans since she didn't have a plane ticket or anything.  As the bus started to pull away from the hotel, Paris made her way toward the back where Shane was finishing up his phone conversation.  Hopefully, the Boy Wonder would have some much-needed answers for her.

Please review—sorry it took so long to update.  Xoxo 

**----Evilution**


	10. Bruised Egos

Chapter 10 – Bruised Egos

By Evilution

Tentatively, Paris approached Shane, who was sitting at the back of the bus, and waited for him to hang up his phone.

"What can I do for you, Paris?" he asked, politely.

"Umm…I kind of didn't know that we had three days off and I didn't make any plans to go anywhere, so I don't have a plane ticket…"

"I already took care of it," Shane replied.  "I figured you didn't know, so I arranged for you to go with Chris and Trish.  And you don't need a plane ticket—we're driving to New Orleans."

"Oh, well, I can pay you back when I get my first paycheck."

Shane laughed.  "That won't be necessary.  Travel and hotel go through the company."

"Even for days off?"

"The RAW stars are going to be making personal appearances, so it's taken care of.  Don't worry so much, Paris.  I'll let you know if you need to worry, OK?"

Paris nodded.  "By the way, when do we get paid?"

"Every Friday—I hand out paychecks at the Friday house show, which is in Tallahassee, Florida this week."

"Cool—thanks."

"Oh, Paris?" Shane went on.

"Yeah?"

"What was that little scene in front of the hotel about?"

"You saw that?"

"I see everything.  Fighting isn't allowed, you know."

"I know, Shane, and I'm sorry," Paris said, nervously.  "But it wasn't my fault—she threw a water bottle at me, just ask Trish and Chris.  It was just…"

Shane put his hand up and stopped the continuing dialogue.

"Just don't let it happen again.  Sarah's a first class troublemaker—she'll try to hook you every chance she gets."

"If she's such a troublemaker, why don't you fire her?" Paris told him, somewhat imperiously.  "That's what my dad does with uppity employees."

Shane smiled.  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stay mad at Paris, even when she sounded every bit the spoiled brat Danny had said she was, even when her voice took on that demanding tone of the very wealthy.  Shane always recognized that tone, being guilty of using it himself on occasion.

"Look, Paris," he said.  "You do your job and let me do mine, OK?  I'm not ignorant when it comes to Miss Sarah and neither is Mike, her supervisor."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"It's OK," he interrupted.  "One more thing—what's the story with you and Randy Orton?"

Paris blinked, surprised.  Now, it was her turn to be slightly annoyed.  Shane may be her boss, but she really didn't think that her personal life was his concern.

"I'm sorry, but I missed the part about that being any of your business, Shane."

"I'm making it by business because you happen to be my responsibility, missy."

"We're just friends," she insisted, rolling her eyes.

"You always kiss your friends?" Shane prodded.

"Maybe I do," Paris retorted.  "You want me to go kiss Trish?"

"Maybe later," Shane replied, nonchalantly.  "A piece of advice, Paris—you're a pretty girl.  I'd hate to see you get warts from kissing toads."

"Didn't you ever read fairytales, Shane?" she countered.  "Some toads turn into princes."

Shane chuckled at her sassiness.  "Just be careful and remember what we talked about yesterday, OK?  This is the WWE, not 'Once upon a time,' and last I checked, Randy Orton was no prince."

"Point taken," Paris replied.  "So are you going to New Orleans, too?"

"Well, I usually go back to headquarters in Stamford to catch up on stuff, but because of my feud with Kane, yes, I'm going, too."

"You don't sound too happy about it."

Shane rubbed his eyes.  "It's nothing.  It's just that I like to stay close to home if I can—my wife's expecting."

"Oh, congratulations," Paris said, surprised.  She never would have guessed Shane was married.  He had the mischievous gleam of a consummate playboy in his eyes.  "When's she due?"

"February 7."

"That's so awesome—I love babies."

Shane smiled.  "Most people do—until they're faced with no sleep and endless crying."

"Don't forget smelly diapers, lots of spit up, and no sex from your wife," Shawn Michaels put in from across the aisle.  

"And no drinking or going out," Steve Austin added.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot.  Thanks for reminding me, guys," Shane stated, dryly.

"Oh, come on—it won't be that bad," Paris encouraged, shooting Shawn and Steve a quelling look.  The only time she had ever seen Shane look uneasy was right at that moment when he spoke about his unborn child.  Shawn and Steve definitely weren't helping.

"To be young again," Shawn said as he glanced at Steve, his voice a mixture of wistfulness and sarcasm.

"Obviously, you've never sat up all damn night rocking a screaming baby," Steve told her.

"Well, no," Paris replied.  "But that's no reason to scare the beejeesus out of him."  She pointed at Shane.  "Look at him—he's all wound up now—as if it's not nerve-wracking enough being an expectant father.  You two better just back off of my god brother or…or…"

"Or what?" Steve snorted as Shawn eyed her jovially, pleasantly surprised with her mother hen attitude toward Shane.

"You'll have to deal with me," Paris declared, putting her hands on her hips and sticking her chest out impudently.

Shawn laughed as he and Steve both gave Paris an admiring yet amused once-over.

"OK, OK, we'll leave the little bastard alone," Steve grunted.  "After all, we wouldn't want you to have another meltdown like you did in the parking lot."

"Good," Paris said as she turned to Shane.  "Now, I want you to put away those papers and that cell phone and relax until we get to New Orleans—got it?"

Shane held up his hands in surrender.  "Got it," he said.  "What's with the concern?"

Paris sighed.  "I don't need my boss being stressed out, because I'm new and that's stressful enough, so when you're stressed, it freaks me out even more."

"Point well taken," Shane conceded.  "But I can't miss any calls, so since you're a coordinator and Jericho doesn't appear to need you right now, you can field my calls during the drive, OK?"  He handed Paris his cell phone.

"No problem," she said with a smile.  As she headed back to the front of the bus, she noticed that Shane had stretched his legs out and seemed to be trying to relax.  She also noticed that the only available seat happened to be right next to Rob Van Dam.  Great, she thought, I'm sure I'm just his most favorite person in the world right now.  Paris took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her jeans as she approached the empty seat.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked, cheerfully.

Rob shrugged noncommittally and then, went back to staring out the window.  Paris rolled her eyes impatiently and sat down, being careful to sit as far away as possible from Rob.  She glanced across the aisle, hoping to strike up a conversation with Trish, but Trish was checking her messages and Chris was talking on his phone.  Paris looked toward the back of the bus, thinking she might be able to talk to Amy, but Amy was having what appeared to be a very intense discussion with Matt.  In fact, Matt looked downright angry and Paris could have sworn Amy was on the verge of tears had her eyes not been hidden by dark glasses.  Indeed, everyone seemed to be doing their own thing.  Paris had no choice but to take another deep breath and turn tentatively toward Rob.  

"Umm…Rob?"

"Yeah?"  His golden-hazel eyes flickered over her casually, showing no emotion whatsoever.

"Look, I'm really sorry about that little outburst last night.  I mean I'd had quite a bit to drink and I guess I get a little sensitive when people make a big deal about my age.  So I'm twenty—it's just a number.  Anyway, I'm sorry."

Rob shook his head in disbelief.  "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"What?" she replied, somewhat taken aback.

"I mean you sit here and apologize to me for the one thing that didn't piss me off last night.  I fact, your 'little outburst,' as you call it, was rather charming in a sophomoric sort of way."

"So then what are you so pissed off about?" Paris demanded.

"Do you really have to ask?" he shot back.

"Yeah, I guess I do!"

"How was your evening with Randy Orton?  You two seemed awfully cozy earlier.  I guess I have to wonder what really did happen last night.  Maybe Sarah was on to something—is that why she struck such a nerve with you?"

"Are you quite finished?" Paris practically shouted, halting his tirade.

Rob didn't respond, but continued to glare at her.

"Because if you are," Paris went on.  "Let me just say this—I'm sorry if I ignored you at the bar, but you started it!  You and Chris and Matt were more interested in playing pool than you were in us, so we just found our entertainment elsewhere.  I'm sorry if I made a bad impression, but you didn't exactly sweep me off my feet either!"

"Oh, and Randy Orton did?" Rob questioned.

"He was really nice," Paris stated, pointedly.

"Yeah, well, the only time Randy Orton is 'nice' to a girl is when he wants something, and I think we all know what he wants."

"Hmm, same thing I heard about you."

"Fuck Amy and her fucking gossip!" Rob hissed in a low voice, not wanting Matt to overhear.  By the looks of Matt and Amy this morning, Rob definitely didn't want to raise Matt's hackles any more than they already were.

Paris' mouth fell open slightly at his caustic tone as she glanced quickly back at Amy and Matt, making sure they hadn't overheard.

"That was pretty goddamn rude!" she whispered.

"Yeah, well, I guess I'm kind of a rude guy!"

"Clearly!"

"Look, Paris," Rob began in a more even tone.  "It's cool if you like Randy Orton, OK?  I suppose he's more your age anyway.  I just figured that we could go out and have a good time—I mean the way you were flirting with me in the locker room and everything.  I apologize about the pool game, but that's just how us guys are.  Trish and Amy deal with it, so I guess I thought you would, too."

Paris sighed, examining her perfectly manicured nails.  "Well, Amy obviously didn't deal with it very well and Trish wasn't too happy either in case you didn't notice, but I guess if disrespecting your girlfriend is the thing to do…"

"It's not like that."

"Oh, really?  Then, how is it, Rob?  If you guys want to do your own thing, why did you even invite us along?  Trish said that we could have easily done a girls night out, but Chris and Matt never allow that—they always want the girls to go with them!  Why, if you guys were just going to ignore us?"

"Probably because Chris and Matt know that most women, like Amy, for example, and apparently, you, too, have a little problem with controlling your alcohol consumption.  So you end up getting drunk and stupid and losing all semblance of what it means to be a lady and you end up with someone like Randy Orton, or worse, Paul Levesque!  Next thing you know, you're the flavor of the week, which is exactly where you're headed."

"Is that so?" Paris replied, her violet eyes flashing.

"That's a fact!"

"Well, I guess that means that you and I have nothing left to say.  But know this, I flirted with you because I thought you were cute and nice and maybe we could have a good time, but apparently, I was sadly mistaken."

"Apparently, you were," Rob retorted, instantly regretting how rude he was being to her, but he couldn't help it.  Something about her just pushed every one of his buttons.

However, he didn't have long to ruminate about it because Paris hastily grabbed her things and stormed off toward Matt and Amy.  She must have asked Matt to switch seats with her because when Rob glanced back at her, she was sitting with Amy and Matt was making his way toward Rob's seat.

"So what was that all about?" Matt asked, sitting down.

"She's a bitch—that's what it was about," Rob stated, bitterly.  "I mean—come on, Matt—she practically threw herself at me in the locker room and mind you, I'm buck-naked to boot!  Then, she acts like the whole debacle at the club was our fault!  And then, no offense or anything, but Amy keeps telling her lies about me from the old ECW days!"

            "Yeah, well, far be it from me to try to make heads or tails of what Amy does these days," Matt said, equally bitter.

            "You guys are having problems?" Rob asked, concerned.

            "I know she's hiding something from me.  She says she got drunk last night and doesn't remember anything."

            "And you don't believe her?"

            "Oh, I believe her—I'd just like to know exactly what it is that she doesn't remember."

            "I suppose you could ask Evolution," Rob suggested.

            "I'd rather poke a white-hot needle in my eye than talk to those fucks.  Did Paris say anything?"

            "In case you didn't notice, Paris and I don't exactly have what you'd call an intimate friendship."

            "Yeah, I did notice that," Matt stated, disgusted.  "I also couldn't help but notice Randy Orton's tongue stuck down her throat."

            "And you know that little prick is only after one thing," Rob commented.  "Just my luck, he's probably gonna get it, too."

            "Fuck her—if you ask me, you can do better."

            "You don't like her, do you?"

            "I don't know her well enough to not like her," Matt said.  "But let's just say that I'm not as enthralled with her as everyone else seems to be.  She's spoiled, shallow, and if she wants to spread her legs for Evolution, then you're better off without her."

            "I guess you're right."

            "Of course, I'm not saying that you still shouldn't try to nail her…"

            "Come on, Matt!"

            "I'm serious, man!  I mean Paris looks like she could be a pretty hot piece of ass.  We've all thought it, even Jeff, and I'm not even sure he likes girls sometimes.  You know Randy Orton's thinking it, if he doesn't know already.  I say get what you want from her and then, treat her like she treated you."

            Rob glanced warily at his friend.  "Jeez, Matt—when did you get so cold?"

            "Call it what you want, but I don't get hurt.  You know something?  I bet you haven't been laid once since your divorce.  I think it's time you started thinking about 

R-V-D and stop worrying about these fucking chicks and their stupid feelings.  I mean I pretty much just told Amy that I was sick of her shit and if she didn't like it, don't let the door hit her in the ass on the way out."

            Rob's gaze drifted back to Amy and Paris, who had been joined by Trish, and all three of them were deep in conversation.  Amy had removed her sunglasses and was trying to drop Visine in her bloodshot eyes as the bus lurched slightly.  Secretly, Rob thought Matt was full of shit where Amy was concerned.  As far as Matt telling Amy how it was gonna be, knowing Amy like he did, Rob highly doubted that Amy would take that kind of crap off Matt, especially with so many guys more than willing to go out with her.  Nevertheless, Matt had a point.  Princess Paris did need to be taken down a notch or two.  Maybe he'd show her that he didn't appreciate being thrown over for that arrogant little Evolution fuck.  Maybe if he gave her a good shagging, she'd stop being such a spoiled bitch.  Rob stroked his chin thoughtfully, lost in notions of revenge.  Maybe Paris needed to be Van Daminated.

            Meanwhile, toward the back of the bus, Paris was now sitting in the window seat next to Amy, having grown weary of Rob's attitude and asking Matt to trade seats with her.  Matt didn't act too thrilled with her suggestion, but he complied nonetheless, he himself needing a breather from Amy and her drama.  Trish had squeezed into the booth as well and the girls were quietly discussing the recent events.

            "So, fuckette," Amy joked to Paris.  "What was up with that kiss this morning?  What exactly happened last night between you and young Mr. Orton?"

            "We just kissed," Paris said in a low voice.  "Unlike you and one Mr. Batista, who were all over each other."

            Amy closed her eyes and sighed, trying to remember the previous night.  She knew that she had spent most of the evening with Batista, but it was the specifics that were a bit blurred.

            "OK, just give it to me straight—how bad was I?" Amy asked.

            "Well, you two were all over each other at the club and you were kissing him," Trish whispered.  "And then, in the limo, you had your head on his lap and then, he kissed you goodnight at the hotel."

            "And what did I do?" Amy urged.

            Trish shrugged.  "You just hugged him, but I couldn't hear what you said."

            Amy shook her head.  "I knew something happened and that I liked it."

            "So do you like him?" Paris queried.  "Batista, I mean."

            "I don't know," Amy replied.  "I mean he's definitely hot.  He's got a great body and I love how intense he is, but I'm still with Matt."

            "That's easily remedied," Trish suggested, quietly.  She didn't want to be the one to recommend to Amy that she should break up with Matt, but she hated seeing Amy get hurt and Matt had been acting like a real jerk lately.  Even Chris had agreed with that assessment.

            "Amy, I hate to say this," Paris began.  "But if Matt treats you the way he treated you last night…"

            "Which he does," Trish interrupted.

            "Then, you're better off without him," Paris concluded.  "I mean I'm not saying that you have to go hook up with Batista right away or anything, but at least you'd be away from all the drama."

            "It was obvious he wanted to talk to you this morning, but Matt was there," Trish said.

            "I don't think Matt likes me," Paris added.

            "He hasn't said anything," Amy told her.

            "I can just tell," Paris replied.  "I don't know what it is—he just rubs me the wrong way.  Funny, I don't get the same vibe from Jeff."

            "Jeff's nothing like Matt," Trish stated.  "Jeff's really deep and sensitive—he writes poetry and stuff.  I think Matt wants everyone to see him as a leader and when we don't, he gets frustrated and tries to act like he's better or something.  We can't help it though—everyone in our group of friends kind of looks to Chris as the leader and sometimes Shawn Michaels.  I think Matt resents all of us a little—and then, there's the whole him being on SmackDown thing and we're all on RAW."

            "See, Amy," Paris said.  "You don't even travel on the same roster—it's not like you even get to see him that often."

            "I know," Amy replied, sobbing a little.  "I think that's why we've grown apart.  He just told me a while ago that I better get my head out of my ass or I can hit the road."

            Paris glared at the back of Matt's head as he leaned and spoke to Rob.  "I'd be telling his funky ass to hit the road," she said.

            "He said that?" Trish exclaimed, incredulous.

            Amy nodded.

            "Well, I agree with Paris.  You don't deserve to be treated like that."

            "I know, Trish, but I feel obligated to make it work—you know, because we've been together for so long."

            "Screw that," Trish shot back with a dismissive wave of her hand.  "That excuse runs along the same lines as 'He said he was sorry and he'd never do it again' or 'She only gave me a blowjob so it's not really cheating.'"

            Paris and Amy both laughed at Trish's bluntness, but deep down, Amy knew her friends were right.  She knew that she was at the end of the road when it came to Matt Hardy.  They both deserved the chance to move on and be happy.  Suddenly, Paris was interrupted by Shane's cell phone ringing and Trish nodded knowingly at Amy as she rose and went back to join Jericho.  As much as Amy loved gossiping with her friends, she was glad that the conversation was prematurely ended.  She definitely had a lot to think about.

            A couple hours later, they arrived in New Orleans and checked into their hotel.  Once again, Paris was rooming with Chris and Trish.  Matt and Jeff managed to secure a rental car and went to the arena for the SmackDown taping while the rest of the RAW superstars, including Paris, Shane, and one other coordinator, who was working for Shawn and Steve, had a quick lunch and then, headed over to the convention center for the trade show.  The place was absolutely packed and Shane told Paris to stick close to Chris, Trish, or Amy.  Luckily for her, her three friends were able to get adjoining autograph tables.  Chris gave her his cell phone to field calls while he visited with fans and Paris offered to take Trish and Amy's phones, too, so they wouldn't be disturbed.  She put each of the phones on vibrate and clipped them onto different areas of her jeans so she could tell which was which.  Chris told her it was safe to wander around and look at the attractions if she chose to.  Paris left her purse with Trish and headed off in search of interesting displays, preferably one that served sodas or something.

            After wandering for several minutes, Paris migrated toward a display where some tattoo and piercing artists were set up.  Tattoos fascinated her.  She saw tattoos as the embodiment of artistic creativity and intricate attention to detail.  The guy behind the table tried to convince her to get into his chair, but Paris declined, insisting that she was only looking.  It wasn't like she needed another tattoo—she already had seven of them, as well as thirteen piercings to boot.  Another artist was working on an immense tattoo on some guy's back.  All of Paris' tattoos were relatively small except for one on her lower back, which was an intricate combination of flowers, butterflies, and black tribal.

            "Thinking about a tattoo, Paris?" a voice drawled.

            Paris turned and noticed Rob Van Dam standing next to her.

            "Oh, are you speaking to me now?" she retorted, immediately on the defensive.

            Rob's jaw twitched.  So she was going to bust his balls about it?  OK, he'd play along, he thought, putting an insincere yet convincing smile on his face.

            "Listen, about that—I owe you an apology.  You were just trying to apologize to me and my 'bruised ego,' as you called it, got the better of me.  I was a jerk and I'm sorry."

            Paris eyed him suspiciously.  "What's the catch?"

            Damn her, he thought.

            "No catch," he replied, innocently.  "I just had some time to think on the ride and actually, it was Matt who changed my mind."

            "Matt?" Paris said with surprise, her attention reverting back to her earlier assessment that Matt wasn't too fond of her.

            "Yeah, he told me to just chalk the whole evening up to alcohol and misunderstandings," Rob explained, trying to sound nonchalant.  "That's kind of what he did with Amy."

            Unbeknownst to Rob, Paris had a slightly different outlook on how Matt handled last night's situation with Amy, but she held her peace.

            "So do you accept my apology?" Rob urged, his cheek dimpling as he smiled.

            "On one condition…"

            Great, what now?  Did she want him to beg?

            "Name it."

            "Stop making jokes about my age.  Like I said on the bus, it's just a number."

            "Agreed," he told her.  I'll try to forget she's only twenty when I'm banging her brains out, Rob told himself, smiling inwardly.

            "Then, I accept," Paris replied.

            "So back to that tattoo—what are you gonna get?"

            "Oh, I was just looking.  I already have seven of them anyway."

            "Seven?" Rob exclaimed, casually checking her out.  He wondered where they all were.

            Paris nodded, laughing.  "I have two on my right leg, two on my left foot, a little butterfly on my left arm, a little fairy on my right upper back, and a big tribal thingy on my lower back.  How bout you?"

            "I have a yin/yang on my leg and another yin/yang/sun/moon thing on my back."

            "The beetle on my left foot—his body is a yin/yang."

            "Cool—you should get another one.  I'll hold your hand if you want."

            "I better not," she smiled, shaking her head.

            "How about a piercing then?"

            Paris shook her head again.  "I already have thirteen of those and besides, I'm kind of on a budget—at least until payday."

            Rob raised his eyebrows.  "And where, pray tell, are all those piercings at?"

            "I have nine in my ears," she said, ticking off the numbers on her fingers.  "Then, there's my belly button, my nose, my tongue, and umm…one other one."

            Rob's mind raced—where was her other piercing?  He had to find out.

            "Come on—you can tell me," he prodded.  "Paris, do you have a 'below the waist' piercing?"

            Paris blushed furiously.  "Oh, no—not that!  My friend—well, ex-friend—Amanda, has that pierced.  Mine's on my left nipple," she said, quietly, practically whispering the word 'nipple.'

            Rob's eyes goggled before he could help himself.  "Vertical or horizontal?"

            "Vertical—it has a little dolphin hanging off of it."

            "Let me see."

            "Forget it—I barely know you."

            "Come on—it's not a sexual thing.  Its just curiosity."

            "Rob, I'm not going to flash my tit right here in front of everyone!" she protested.

            "These guys have seen it all before," Rob replied, indicating the tattoo artists.

            "No."

            "So let's go into one of the bathrooms."

            "Forget it!"

            "Come on, Paris!"

            "No, and that's my final answer, Regis!"

            Rob shrugged, disappointed, as they began to walk towards another display.  "I guess I'll just have to get you liquored up."

            "Good luck," Paris replied, sarcastically.  She made up her mind that she liked Rob despite their earlier tiff and even though he was a little cocky, but the jury was still out on her opinion of Matt Hardy.  She definitely didn't care for how he treated Amy.

            There were so many people at the trade show that it ended up lasting until well into the early evening.  Shawn Michaels had procured Shane McMahon's rented SUV with hopes of seeing Stephanie later, so after a quick dinner and a change of clothes, Amy, Paris, and Shane Helms decided to go to the SmackDown taping with Shawn.  Trish, Chris, Jay, and Rob begged off, deciding to go out since they really didn't have any desire to go hang out in the SmackDown locker room.  Paris would have like to stay at the hotel and get a good night's sleep considering she had been up so late the night before, but Amy looked so crushed that no one wanted to go see Matt wrestle that Paris felt sorry for her and ended up going along.  In the end, Trish caved in and went along as well.  

            Because of all the hemming and hawing over who was going to go, it turned out they were about half an hour late and of course, this pissed Matt off to no end.  He snapped at them when they arrived, ranting and raving about how inconsiderate they were.  After he finished yelling at them, he stomped off, muttering something about everyone else's career being more important than his.  Naturally, Amy went running after him, but his behavior only served to reinforce Paris' earlier opinion of him.  Shane Helms' friend and Matt's partner, Shannon Moore, explained after Matt's exit that the reason he was in such a snit was because their match had been pulled off of SmackDown and the writers were sticking them on some show called Velocity once again.  Had Amy and the others been any later, they would have missed Matt's match entirely since the Velocity matches were taped at the beginning of the show.

            After Matt and Amy's disappearance, Paris and Trish hung out in the locker room and visited with some of the divas while Shane went and hung out with Shannon, and Shawn chatted with Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero, and a huge guy who was called Big Show.  Trish had just introduced Paris to Torrie Wilson and Dawn Marie when she heard Matt's music echoing through the backstage area.  Excusing herself, Trish grabbed Paris, explaining that they had better go watch Matt wrestle lest he find something else to be mad at Amy about.  Paris could have named quite a few things she would have rather done than watch Matt wrestle, but she followed Trish nevertheless as they made their way to the monitor area where Amy and Shane were observing the match intently.  At the end of the match, which Matt and Shannon won, Paris had to admit that Matt was a gifted performer, but his obvious talents did nothing to dismiss her animosity towards him for his treatment of Amy and his apparent immaturity where their relationship was concerned.

            After the match, Matt wanted to leave as soon as he and Shannon had gotten cleaned up and changed, so while they were doing that, Trish took Paris to meet Stephanie McMahon.  On the way to the general manager's office, Trish pointed out Brock Lesnar to Paris.  Paris had been remotely curious about what kind of man would have sex with that bitch, Sarah, and after seeing Brock, she told Trish that she must have been right about him being drunk or temporarily retarded because he was definitely far above Sarah's standards with his amazing body and handsome baby face.  

            The girls turned down a long corridor and approached a room that said 'General Manager' on the door.  Trish knocked and a few seconds later, Stephanie McMahon answered, her pretty face breaking into a huge smile when she saw Trish.

            "Trish!  Oh my God, what are you doing here?" she shrieked, enveloping the smaller woman in a huge hug.

            "We were doing autographs over at the trade center," Trish said, returning Stephanie's hug.  "We just stopped by to see Matt wrestle."

            "So Amy's here, too?"

            "Yes, among other people," Trish stated, pointedly.

            "I know—Jeff's here, too.  Isn't it great that he's coming back?"

            "Forget Jeff," Trish said, arching her eyebrow.  "I'm talking about other people—one other person in particular."

            Stephanie looked confused for a moment and then, when realization dawned on her, her beautiful blue eyes got as wide as saucers.

            "Shawn's here, isn't he?" she exclaimed, barely able to contain her excitement over the thought of seeing her fiancée.

            Trish nodded.  "He's down the hallway talking to Benoit and some others.  He said he knew you were busy with the show, so he didn't want to distract you.  We're planning on meeting up with Chris and Jay and the others later—how soon can you get out of here?"

            "I'm stuck till the end of the show," Steph explained.  "But call me so I can meet you, OK?  Who's your friend, Trish?" she asked, glancing at Paris.

            "Oh, Steph, I'm sorry—this is why I came looking for you in the first place.  This is Paris Ocean—your dad just hired her as a coordinator on RAW and I wanted to introduce her to you."

            "Nice to meet you," Stephanie replied, politely, as she shook Paris' outstretched hand.  "Did you say your last name is Ocean?"

            Paris nodded, but before she could respond, Stephanie squealed with delight once again.  This woman was obviously quite exuberant, Paris thought.

            "Oh my God—you're Danny's little girl!" the general manager shouted as she pulled Paris into a tight hug.  "I haven't seen you since you were practically a baby!  Let me look at you!  God, you're just as gorgeous as your mother!"

            "You know me?" Paris replied, surprised.

            "Of course, I do, but you probably don't remember me.  Our families used to spend alternating summers in Lake Tahoe and Martha's Vineyards, but we kind of lost touch when you started school."

            Paris stared hard at Stephanie, trying to recognize any shred of familiarity.  She vaguely recalled a skinny girl with brown pigtails chasing her down the beach when she was barely more than a toddler, both of them giggling hysterically.  Could it really be the same girl?

            "Oh my God!" Paris exclaimed.  "We used to have so much fun!  I don't remember a lot of it, but you always got stuck babysitting me."

            "I didn't mind," Stephanie laughed.  "You were so cute and it made me feel grown-up—you know, being given the responsibility and everything.  So my dad gave you a job?"

            "Well, he's kind of doing it as a favor to my dad," Paris explained.  "My dad thinks I need to learn the value of money and the meaning of hard work."

            Steph rolled her eyes.  "Lovely," she replied, dryly.  "My dad pulled that on me a couple times, too.  It didn't work—I still spend money like it grows on trees."

            Paris laughed.  "Sounds like me.  God, Steph, I can't believe we're seeing each other again.  You look great!"

            Stephanie began to respond, but suddenly, her pager went off.  She glanced at it, her brows furrowing in concentration.

            "I'm sorry, Paris—I have to go handle this."

            "What's going on?" Trish asked.

            "Sable's throwing a fit in wardrobe again.  I swear to God, Trish, if I could fire that bitch…she's been unbearable ever since she started dating Brock."

            "Sable's dating Brock?" Trish exclaimed.  "Tammy's gonna flip!"

            Paris remembered Shane mentioning someone named Sable and how she tried to sue the WWE for sexual harassment, but ended up coming back when her movie career didn't pan out.

            "I thought she was over him," Steph remarked.  "Besides, I heard she was dating Matt Morgan."

            Apparently, Stephanie knew this Tammy person as well, Paris thought.

            "They've just gone out a couple of times—nothing serious," Trish stated.  "She's over Brock and everything—its just…Sable?  What the hell is he thinking?"

            "Obviously with the wrong head," Stephanie retorted.

            "Apparently so," Trish added in agreement as Paris giggled quietly.  "Any possibility of Katie getting on in wardrobe?  She misses John so much."

            Steph sighed.  "I know, but nothing's opened yet."  Once again, her pager went off shrilly.  "I gotta go—if you see Katie, tell her that if Sable pisses Olga off one more time, maybe she'll quit.  Paris, are you gonna be here a while?"

            "I think Amy and Matt want to leave right away, but I'll be in town until Friday."

            "Good because I want to get together—we have a lot of catching up to do.  Are you going out tonight?"

            Paris shrugged.  "I'm pretty wiped out from last night.  I might just turn in early."

            "And I should spend some time with Shawn.  How about lunch tomorrow?"

            "I'd love to."

            "Great, if I can't find you, I'll just ring Jericho," she called as she hurried down the hallway.  "Oh, Trish, you and Amy come to, OK?"

            Trish didn't have a chance to answer because Stephanie had already disappeared around a corner, the clicking of her heels echoing behind her.

            Trish smiled.  "Typical Stephanie—always on the go.  Vince usually keeps her hopping, but she loves it.  She's so much more organized than Shane."

            Paris snorted.  "A freaking anthill is more organized than Shane, but he does put out a good show."

            Trish glanced at her watch.  "We better hook up with the others before Matt has another meltdown."

            Paris rolled her eyes, but turned to follow Trish nonetheless.  She could have cared less whether Matt had a meltdown or not.  As the evening wore on, more than anything, Paris just wanted to go to sleep, the late hours from the previous night taking their toll.

            Trish and Paris made their way back to the monitor area and began looking around for Matt, Jeff, and Amy.  Jeff caught their attention and immediately, approached them, looking tense.  Matt and Amy were nowhere to be found.  

            "Are you guys ready to go?" Jeff asked.

            "Where're Matt and Amy?" Trish asked.

            "They went back to the hotel," Jeff explained.  "When you guys disappeared, we didn't know where you were and Amy wanted to wait, but Matt got all pissed off."

            "Quel surprise," Paris replied, sarcastically.

            "God, what's his problem?" Trish exclaimed.

            Jeff shrugged, smiling apologetically.  "I guess he's just been under a lot of pressure lately.  Anyhoo, Shane's taking off with Shannon and Shawn's gonna wait for Steph and ride with her, so he told us we could take the SUV back to the hotel.  Chris just called me—him and Van Dam and Jay are gonna meet us in the lobby so we can decide what we wanna do."

            The girls nodded as they waved goodbye to a few people and then, followed Jeff out to the garage.  Matt and Amy had already taken the rental car that Matt and Jeff had arrived in, so Trish led them over to the SUV that she, Paris, Amy, Shane, and Shawn had arrived in.  Jeff drove and Paris settled into the back seat, secretly plotting the things she would like to say to Matt if he ever had the nerve to get in her face.  Amy, in her opinion, deserved so much more.

            The arena wasn't very far from the hotel, so within minutes, Jeff pulled up in front of the lobby where Chris, Rob, and Jay were waiting.

            "I take it my brother's not going," Jeff commented as the guys approached the vehicle.

            "I called and he said that him and Amy needed some alone time," Chris explained, eyebrows raised.

            Trish nodded knowingly as Paris yawned loudly, stretching her arms.

            "So what's the plan?" Jeff questioned.

            Chris glanced around rather dispassionately.  "I don't know," he replied.  "There doesn't seem to be much going on tonight.  I suppose we could just cruise down Bourbon Street.  The locals keep saying it's gonna pick up tomorrow night."

            "In that case, I think I'll take a rain check," Paris declared, climbing out of the SUV.  "I'm exhausted.  I think I'll just go to bed if you guys don't mind."

            Chris, Jeff, and Jay nodded in understanding, but Trish and Rob looked clearly disappointed—Trish because she would be minus the female companionship for the evening and Rob because his plot to seduce Paris was going to have to be put on the back burner for now.

            "Are you sure you don't want to go out?" Trish asked, hoping Paris would change her mind.

            "I'm sure," Paris replied.  "I have to get up early—I have all that luggage to go through and I have to find some way to ship it home.  Plus, I'm supposed to have lunch with Stephanie tomorrow.  I just need a good night's sleep."

            The superstars all nodded and bid Paris goodnight as she made her way into the hotel.  Once she got upstairs and got ready for bed, Paris discovered, much to her annoyance, that she couldn't sleep.  So she got up and began going through her luggage.  When she finished an hour later, she had managed to eliminate a suitcase and a carryon.  Most of what she was shipping home consisted of dress clothes and shoes.  She had reduced her shoe wardrobe down to only seven pairs, which included her black Doc Martin boots, her tan Pradas, two pairs of tennis shoes, some flat brown sandals, a pair of black dress shoes, and her favorite silver Manolo Blahnik sandals.  She kept all of her casual clothes and a few dressy outfits for going out.  Her largest suitcase opened on both sides—one side being a shallower compartment that she packed her shoes in, and the other, she used to store all of her clothes.  The smaller items, such as undergarments, bathing suits, socks, and belts, she packed in her largest carryon along with her hair dryer, airbrush, flattening iron, camera, journal, and jewelry.  The rest of her personal items all fit in her makeup case where they belonged.  Glancing around the room, she couldn't believe how much she had gotten rid of.  At last, she was tired.  Putting the rest of her things away, Paris turned off the lights and sank into bed.  She vaguely heard Chris and Trish come in about an hour later and immediately go to bed.  Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were to wonder what Randy was doing and wishing he could be there to help her enjoy the Big Easy.

**Please review—Boring chapter, but had to lay some groundwork.  Ta ta.**

**-----Evilution**


	11. The Big Easy

Chapter 11 – The Big Easy

By Evilution

Disclaimer: As stated earlier, I own none of the characters, except Paris and Amanda.  All wrestling characters belong to WWE and any references to Paris' family in Las Vegas are based on the movie Ocean's Eleven.  Also, I do not own or are affiliated with any of the clubs, places, or businesses mentioned.

            Paris awoke the next morning to the sounds of Chris and Trish rushing to get ready for another day at the trade show.  As she started to get up, Chris told her that he didn't need her until after lunch, so she was more than welcome to sleep in.  Paris had a feeling that he was just being nice because the last couple of days had been such a transition for her.  Nevertheless, Paris thanked him and rolled over to go back to sleep as he and Trish headed over to the convention center.

            But try as she might, Paris just couldn't go back to sleep.  Every time she closed her eyes and tried to pick up where she had left off in the middle of a particularly sexy dream starring one Randy Orton, someone somewhere would slam a door or shout down the hallway, thus dashing any hopes of finishing her interrupted nocturnal fantasy.  Muttering with irritation, Paris finally lifted herself out of bed, showered, and got ready to begin her day. 

            The first thing she did was call the front desk to get some information on places that would ship her extraneous luggage back to Vegas.  Much to her delight, the clerk told her that there was a Mail Boxes Etc. within walking distance of the hotel and they were relatively inexpensive.  Making sure that she had everything, including the key card Jericho had left for her, Paris grabbed her extra suitcase and carryon and rushed out the door.  After asking the doorman for directions, she walked about three blocks to Mail Boxes Etc., where she gave the cashier her parents' home address rather than one of the casinos and used her emergency credit card to pay.  Then, she placed a quick call to Danny and Tess and left a message, letting them know that her things would be arriving within the week. 

            Next, Paris was strolling down the sidewalk when she caught sight of herself in the window of a boutique.  I really look like hell, she thought, raking her fingers through her unruly blond hair.  New life calls for a new do, she told herself, spying a salon a few doors down.  Luckily, they took walk-ins, and a couple hours later, Paris was admiring the new her.  Her shoulder-length blond locks had been cut into a stylish bob with a few strands tucked behind each ear and copper-colored streaks alternating with platinum blond, complimenting her lightly tanned skin and giving her an all-over, golden, sun-kissed look.

            After paying the stylist, once again with her emergency credit card, Paris set off for the hotel, humming a happy tune.  Her last order of business was to stop by the trade show, even though Jericho had said that he didn't need her.  She was hoping to find Shawn Michaels, so that he, in turn, could direct her to Stephanie's location.  That way, Steph wouldn't have to come and hunt her down for their lunch date.  As it turned out, Stephanie was at the trade show, sharing a table with Shawn Michaels and signing autographs.  Matt was also there, sitting with Amy, even though the SmackDown stars, according to Trish, were off until Saturday.  He must have wanted to hang around and spend some quality time with Amy.  It was relatively busy, so Paris quietly took a seat next to Trish at her table and asked if there was anything she could do.

            "Just keep me company," Trish replied with a smile, not really looking at Paris, but concentrating on the fan whom she was signing an autograph.

            "Oh my God—what did you do to your hair?" Trish exclaimed, finally focusing on Paris.

            "You like it?"

            "I love it!" Trish squealed.  "It's so cute—totally compliments your face and I love the streaks."

            "You think Randy will like it?"

            "As long as it's attached to you, I'm sure Randy will like it."

            "So what did you guys do last night?" Paris asked, changing the subject.

            Trish shrugged.  "Nothing real exciting.  We went to this club and I actually ended up joining the pool game this time."

            "You any good?"

            "I completely suck."

            "At least you didn't get ignored all night."

            "Chris and I left early—it was pretty boring.  But I'll tell you this, one Mr. Rob Van Dam was very disappointed that you didn't go."

            "Really?"

            "Mmm hmm."

            "Well, we are on speaking terms again."

            "Do you like him?" Trish inquired.

            "Not like I like Randy."

            Trish rolled her eyes in a jovial manner.  "He's just got you hooked, doesn't he?"

            "Come on—he's so hot!"

            "And such an asshole," Trish added.

            "I know, I know—I just can't help it.  I mean did you see his abs?  That's not a six-pack, it's an eight-pack!"

            "OK, OK, I get your point, but like I said, just be careful."

            Paris thanked Trish for her sisterly concern and then, excused herself to go to the restroom and wander around the show for a while.  Stephanie came looking for her at lunchtime and after complimenting Paris on her new look and rounding up Trish and Amy, the four of them jumped into Steph's rental car and headed downtown to have lunch.  The only person who had seemed a little put out about the girls' lunch plans was Matt, who pouted slightly that Amy was ditching him for her girlfriends, but Chris and Shawn quickly stepped in and invited Matt to go with them.  Paris couldn't figure out why Amy, who was so strong and so beautiful, let Matt push her around.  In Paris' opinion, she could have any guy she wanted, including the very hot and very stacked Mr. Batista.  Matt was cute enough, but he was nothing special.  His insensitive treatment of Amy and his underlying arrogance made him a lot less attractive than he really was.  Paris got the impression that Matt wore masks around his friends—masks that he could intermittently change whenever he pleased to suit his purposes.

            Stephanie and Shawn, on the other hand, seemed to be the perfect couple.  They had been together for a little over a year and were getting married in a couple months, which Paris already knew.  However, she was surprised to find out that Shawn had a three and a half year old son named Cameron, who he had sole custody of.  Cameron's mother and Shawn had been married, but they split up shortly after Cameron was born.  Steph explained that Shawn's ex used to be a Nitro girl on the old WCW wrestling and Shawn's friend, Kevin Nash, had introduced them.  What caused the split was that she hadn't wanted Cameron.  Stephanie told them with tears in her eyes that one of the things she loved the most about Shawn was how much he cared for that little boy.  Paris could tell from her voice that Stephanie loved the child as well, she being the only mother he had ever had.

            "Can I ask you a personal question?" Paris said when Stephanie paused to wipe her eyes.

            "Sure."

            "Why does Paul hate Shawn so much?"

            "That's an easy one," Steph replied, somewhat bitterly.  "I dumped Paul for Shawn."

            "Why?" Paris asked.

            "I think I always loved Shawn," she explained.  "Even when I was a teenager.  When I was finally old enough to be with him, it never seemed to work out.  Either he was with someone or I was with someone—you know, bad timing and everything."

            "So what happened?" Paris urged.

            "Well, the summer before last, Shawn's divorce was final and he came back to the WWE.  I was still with Paul, but things weren't going too well.  We were fighting all the time.  I guess I just got up enough courage to tell Shawn how I felt and he felt the same way.  So I broke up with Paul and the rest is history."

            "Wow," Paris breathed.  "And you were with Paul a long time, weren't you?"

            "Too long," Stephanie remarked.  "We'd been together for almost two years, but the thing you don't understand about Paul is that he's 100% devoted to the WWE.  Nothing and no one matters to him next to his career.  It's like some sort of an obsession for him.  He's like a machine."

            Paris shuddered inwardly, remembering the dance she shared with Paul and how tried to find some shred of warmth in his eyes, but couldn't.

            "Any way," Stephanie went on.  "Cameron was only two when Shawn came back and Shawn's ex had been gone for close to a year and a half, so I'm pretty much Cameron's mother, which suits me just fine.  I mean, what kind of a woman just up and leaves her child?"

            "Where is the ho anyway?" Trish asked, sipping her iced tea.

            "In Vegas," Stephanie commented, rolling her eyes.  "Fulfilling her lifelong dream of becoming a hooker probably.  I don't want to talk about her anymore—she gives me heart palpitations and I'm only twenty-seven, for Christ's sake."

            Trish and Amy laughed as Paris made a mental note to find out at a later time what Shawn's ex's name was.  Hopefully, she wasn't working at any of Danny's casinos.

            "So, Paris," Stephanie began, turning to her.  "What do you think of the WWE so far?"

            "It's interesting to say the least," Paris said.  "Never a dull moment."

            "She already pissed Evolution off," Amy said with a sly smile.  "And then, proceeded to win them over."

            Steph shook her head, jokingly.  "So what happened?"

            "Paul started hassling me at dinner and Randy was making really rude comments, so I told them off.  Then, Jeff stepped into it, which really pissed Paul off, so he told Shane to fire me."

            "And what did Shane do?" Steph prompted.

            "Well, he told the Evolution boys that I couldn't be fired and they better back off, but he let me know that I had to walk a thin line where Triple H was concerned.  Apparently, your father isn't protecting me as much as I was led to believe he was.  I guess that's Shane's job."

            "Oh, goody," Steph said, sarcastically.  "Shane's a bigger mother hen than my father could ever be.  But don't worry—now, you've got me looking out for you and I'm loads more fun than Shane."

            "The only problem now is that I think our young friend Paris is a bit taken with Mr. Orton," Amy explained.  "Not only that, but Van Dam appears to fancy her as well.  Talk about bad news on all fronts."

            Stephanie stirred her lemonade absently, watching Paris with keen interest.  "That's an understatement," she said, agreeing with Amy.  "We all know Randy's only after one thing, and Rob…well, I won't go there."

            "I will," Amy retorted.  "And don't think that it's because I'm still hung up on him," she added, eyeing Trish.  "It's just that I'm worried about Paris here.  She seems to be attracting the worst elements."

            "Look who's talking," Paris shot back, grinning.

            "Yeah," Trish added, laughing.  "Paris isn't the only one who seems to be _evolving_."

            Amy blushed and started fiddling with her napkin.

            "What did I miss here?" Stephanie said, confused.

            "Little Red Riding Hood over there seems to have garnered the attention of one very large, muscular member of Evolution," Trish explained, slyly.

            "Batista?" Stephanie practically shouted prompting looks from neighboring diners.

            Amy continued to blush, changing from a mild pink to a brilliant red that could have rivaled her hair.  "We're just friends," she insisted, dismissively.

            "Mmm, hmm—yeah, right," came a chorus of voices from around the table.

            "This isn't about me, it's about Paris," Amy stated.  "Can we please change the subject?"

            All eyes were once again on Paris.

            "Look, ladies, I appreciate the concern," Paris said.  "But I'm a big girl.  If I'm going to learn responsibility like my dad wants me to, I have to make my own decisions, even if they turn out to be the wrong ones.  Trust me, I'm not stupid, OK?"

            "She's right," Stephanie agreed.  "But you know we still have your back, Paris.  I mean, Danny obviously had his reasons for sending you here and since my dad's too busy to watch over you, it's up to me and Shane…but only from a distance.  You have to make your own mistakes."

            "And you think Randy Orton is a mistake?" Paris asked.

            "I don't know Randy that well," Steph replied, honestly.  "But I do know who he runs with.

            Amy and Trish nodded knowingly as the waiter brought the check, thus signaling the conclusion of their lunch.  After some intense maneuvering over who was going to pick up the tab, Stephanie snatched it out of Trish's hand and shoved it toward the cashier along with several large bills, prompting the end of the dispute.  Noticing the late hour, the girls decided to forego any other activity and piling into Stephanie's car, headed back to the trade show.  As Stephanie, Trish, and Amy went back to their stations, Paris made her way back to the hotel for a much-needed nap.  There was a message on her cell phone from Tess, saying that she received Paris' voicemail and would be expecting the luggage in a day or two.  Back at the room, Paris laid down on the bed and before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep.

            Several hours later, Paris was awakened by the sound of Chris and Trish moving around the room.  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she focused on Trish, who was urging her to get up and get ready, so they could all go out.  Paris stumbled into the bathroom where she splashed cold water on her face, reapplied her makeup, and fixed her newly styled hair.  She changed into a pair of low-rise jeans and a pink and tan flowered baby doll shirt that laced at her breasts and then, split open, revealing her midriff.  The low scoop neck showed a generous amount of cleavage, which Paris dusted with perfumed shimmer powder.  She applied some mocha gloss to her lips and spritzed herself with some Estee Lauder Pleasures before exiting the bathroom.

            Trish and Chris were waiting for her and Chris let out a low whistle upon seeing her shirt.

            "You better not be looking at what I think you're looking at," Trish teased, slapping Chris playfully on the arm as Paris bent down to put on her boots, treating them to an even more generous view.

            "Is it too much?" Paris asked, nervously fidgeting with her top.

            "I guess if your goal is to give everyone over thirty premature heart failure, it's fine," Chris said.  "I'm sure Rob's gonna love it."

            "I don't think heart failure will be the only thing that's premature, if you know what I mean," Trish joked.  "Ignore him, Paris—you look great."

            "She's right," Chris agreed.  "Now, all you need is a little of the old bling bling."

            With that, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box as Trish looked on, beaming.  Paris opened the box, revealing a delicate necklace with a tiny pink pearl dangling from it.  Paris gasped.  Anyone with half a brain could see that the pearl was the real thing and the chain was pure platinum.

            "Guys, wh..what is this?" Paris stammered.

            "It's a little gift from both of us—to welcome you to the WWE," Chris said.

            "It's too much—I couldn't accept it."

            "Nonsense," Trish scoffed.  "It's a trinket, really.  I'm sure you probably have more extravagant jewels, but…well, let Chris put it on you anyway."  
            Paris turned around, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes as Chris fastened the pendant around her neck.  No one had ever done anything so nice for her before.  She glanced in the mirror, admiring the jewel as it rested just below her throat.

            "See, it even matches your shirt," Chris stated.

            "I knew it would be perfect," Trish added.

            "Thank you both so much," Paris cried, throwing her arms around both of her blond friends.  "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever given me."

            After a great deal of giggling, crying, and hugging, of which Chris stood back and watched with amusement, Paris and Trish pulled themselves together and followed Chris down to the lobby, where they were meeting up with Stephanie, Shawn, Amy, Matt, Jeff, Rob, Jay, and whoever else wanted to go along.  After some last minute discussion, the group of young people headed down Bourbon Street on foot to a club called Razzoo.  Shane Helms, Mark Jindrak, Garrison Cade, Lisa Varon (Victoria), and Jackie Gayda had also chose to accompany them.  Of course, everyone complimented Paris on her new haircut and more than a couple of the guys had cast furtive glances at her low-cut shirt.  Naturally, the girls were more interested in her new necklace, but Paris had to admit to herself that the attention gave her a certain amount of confidence and she knew that she was going to have a good time tonight, even if Randy wasn't there.  As they were walking to the club, Paris found herself paired off with Jeff and Jackie as Amy chose to walk with Shane and Lisa, Trish hung back with Chris and Jay, and Matt appeared to be brushing up on his brown-nosing by walking in front with Stephanie and Shawn.  Paris couldn't help but notice that both she and Jackie continued to receive very appreciative glances from the single men in the group, namely Rob and Mark.  Although Jackie was making an effort to let Mark know she was interested in him, Paris remained casually aloof towards Rob, glancing at him briefly while concentrating on her conversation with Jeff.

            They finally reached Razzoo and much to their surprise, it wasn't as jam-packed as one would expect a popular Bourbon Street club to be, especially since it was not a weekend night.  There was a large dance floor and a decent sounding band was blasting popular rock tunes.  When they had entered, Paris noticed a balcony up above, undoubtedly used more during Mardi Gras season when girls flashed their breasts in exchange for beads.  Once inside, Shawn led them toward the back where there was an even larger patio area used for mingling.  Even farther back, Paris saw a couple of pool tables and a dartboard.  After they found some tables, Shawn excused himself and announced that he need to make a phone call, and Chris, Matt, and Rob left to order everyone's drinks.  Shouting above the din, Paris asked Stephanie who Shawn was calling and Steph told her that he had been looking for Steve Austin all afternoon, but had been unsuccessful in finding him. 

Glancing around more closely, Paris spotted several more WWE superstars in the club.  Bubba Ray and Dvon Dudley, also known as Mark LaMonica and Devon Hughes, were engaged in a heated game of pool with two thirds of La Resistance, Rob Conway and Rene Dupree.  The third member of the French group, Sylvan Grenier, had opted not to go on the trip, wanting to be home with his fiancée, who was expecting their first child.  At a neighboring pool table, SmackDown stars Rey Misterio and Billy Kidman were challenging Charlie Haas and Shelton Benjamin to a game of eight ball.  Shane Helms had run into his friend, Shannon Moore, and the two of them had struck up a game of darts at the far end of the club.  Torrie Wilson and Dawn Marie were chatting and watching the pool games until Dawn spotted Paris and Stephanie and began waving animatedly.  Stephanie waved back and flagging down a waitress, handed her a hundred and instructed her to treat both billiard tables of superstars to a round of drinks, courtesy of the SmackDown General Manager.  She winked at Paris as Shawn rejoined the group, looking exasperated.  Apparently, Steve was still missing in action.

"Did you find him?" Stephanie asked her fiancée.

"He's down at some strip club with the APA," Shawn explained.  "He was so loaded, I could barely understand him."

"Well, I'm not really in the mood to baby-sit Steve tonight," Steph replied.

Paris shrugged.  "Steve's a big boy.  Why do you have to baby-sit him?"

"Because the dipshit can't seem to stay out of trouble," Shawn remarked.  "Drunk and disorderly, domestic violence, resisting arrest—I don't know why I care, other than he's my friend.  That and the fact that I'm Vince's soon-to-be son-in-law…"

"Shawn thinks it's his duty to protect the company's reputation," Stephanie said.  "But my dad and Steve go back a long way.  If Steve's gonna hang himself again, you might as well just hand him the rope, honey.  There's nothing you can do to stop it."

"I guess you're right," Shawn conceded as Chris, Matt, and Rob approached the table with pitchers of beer for the guys and carafes of some green concoction called a Hand Grenade for the ladies.  Chris told them that one of the bartenders had 'borrowed' the recipe from a bar called Tropical Isle, where she used to work, and she guaranteed that it was the next best thing to a Hurricane.

After a couple of drinks and some light conversation, Paris began to get restless, due to the fact that everyone seemed to have their own agenda.  Chris and Matt were being overly solicitous toward Trish and Amy, chatting and dancing, perhaps a gesture of remorse over their actions in Lafayette.  Jay was deep in conversation with Lisa—apparently, there appeared to be some sort of a connection building between them.  Jeff, Rob, Mark, and Garrison had all joined Shane and Shannon's dart game, along with Jackie, who was practically glued to Mark's side.  Paris' only option for some action was to join the other divas at the pool tables.  As she made her way over to the billiard area, she was vaguely aware of Rob's eyes following her every move.  Torrie was cheering on Rey and Billy's game with Charlie and Shelton, so Paris joined Dawn Marie at the other table, where the Dudley Boys appeared to be getting their asses kicked by La Resistance.  As Bubba and Dvon plotted their strategy, Rene Dupree took the opportunity to approach Paris.  Paris had met Rene, Sylvan, and Rob Conway Monday night at RAW, but she had gotten the chance to visit a little further with Rene during the trade show.  Paris liked Rene, even though he tended to be somewhat arrogant and his French accent was a tad overbearing at times.  She liked the fact that he, like her, was only twenty years old and the youngest wrestler in the WWE.  He seemed to like teasing her about how she should become a diva for La Resistance since they were French and her name was Paris.

"Paris, ma belle jolie," Rene said as he kissed the back of her hand.  "Not bad for a couple of Frenchmen, no?"  He pointed to the pool table, which had been cleared of every solid ball except the eight, and the Dudley Boys were agonizing over how they were going to sink all of the remaining stripes.

"He's not French," Paris pointed out, impudently, indicating Rob Conway.

"No, but I'm a 'French sympathizer,' whatever the hell that is," Rob stated.

"Still, we beat Americans at billiards—pretty impressive, eh?" Rene added.

Paris laughed as she elbowed Dawn in the arm.  "So, a couple of good-looking guys like you would rather play pool than score with hot chicks?"

"I always have time for the ladies," Rene said as Rob rolled his eyes.  "In fact, what can you tell me about the tres jolie Miss Torrie Wilson?"

Dawn arched an eyebrow.  "Not only is she tres jolie, but she's not really Miss Torrie Wilson.  She's Mrs. Billy Kidman."

Rene stroked his chin thoughtfully as his glance wavered between Torrie and Billy.  "That is too bad—what a waste.  Perhaps one of you lovely ladies will honor me with a dance later?"  His gaze drifted from Paris to Dawn, where it lingered just long enough to make his intent clear.

Dawn, who wasn't remotely interested in some twenty-year old French guy, glanced at Paris for help, but Paris was distracted by someone calling her name at the neighboring pool table.  Excusing herself apologetically, she proceeded to make her way over to the other pool table where Charlie Haas, who had been calling her, beckoned her to join him.

"Who won?" Paris asked, cheerfully.

"They slaughtered us," Charlie replied.  "Now, they want to challenge whoever wins that game."

"Yeah, well, do you think one of you could go ask Dawn to dance?  I kind of left her in the lurch with Rene."

"I'm on it," Shelton said as he made his way over to where Dawn appeared to be firmly yet politely telling Rene that she wasn't interested.

"So what's up?" Paris asked.  "Why were you calling me?"

Charlie shifted uncomfortably, jamming his hands in his pockets and not meeting her eyes.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked, absently.

"Sure, why not?" Paris replied, confused, as he lead her onto the dance floor for a slow song.

"Charlie, are you OK?" she inquired, swaying to the music.

"I'm fine—it's just that…I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Umm…you know Jackie?  Umm…is she with anyone?"

Paris blinked, surprised.  For a moment, she thought he was going to hit on her, but then, she realized she wasn't in Vegas anymore.  Here, she was a tiny, little fish in a big, huge pond.  Not every guy was out to get her—the casino owner's daughter and princess of the Vegas paparazzi. 

"I'm not sure, Charlie—I don't know her that well."

"Well, I noticed she's been hanging on Jindrak all night, but I never knew them to be a couple.  What difference does it make anyway?  She'll never go for me."

"Who says?  I bet if you told her you liked her…"

"I couldn't do that.  Maybe you could put in a good word for me."

Paris laughed lightly.  "Charlie, I don't know you that well either."

"Well, you could tell her what a great dancer I am and that I'm a former All-American—Seton Hall University.  Chicks love smart, athletic guys, right?"

Paris laughed again.  "OK, OK, I'll tell her, but I'm only doing it because you're being very sweet and that Jindrak's an arrogant jerk anyways."

"Hey, thanks, Paris," Charlie said as the song ended and he gave her a little hug before leading her off of the dance floor.  "I owe you one."

"It's nothing—tell Shelton thanks for saving Dawn."

Charlie winked playfully as he headed back to the pool tables and Paris made her way over to talk to Jackie.  Dawn had finished her dance with Shelton and now, she joined Jackie and the others at the dartboards.  Paris' presence was immediately noticed by Rob Van Dam, who hit a hat trick just as she walked up, thus knocking Garrison out of the game.

"Showoff," Jeff murmured as Rob's hazel eyes fixated on Paris, who was now chatting with Dawn and Jackie.

"Bitch, thanks for leaving me alone with Jean Claude Van Damme over there," Dawn joked, taking Paris by the arm.

"Sorry," Paris said.  "That's why I sent Shelton to rescue you."

"You did that?" Dawn exclaimed.  "God, you can't imagine how glad I was to see him."

"Dawn, were you French kissing in the USA?" Rob teased.

"Yeah, right—with some twenty-year old kid.  No offense, Paris.

"None taken," Paris replied.

"Oh, and Dawn, Jean Claude Van Damme is Belgian," Rob pointed out, egotistically.

"You should know," Dawn shot back, sarcastically.  "Being that you stole his name and everything."

"More like he stole my name," Rob argued.

"Jackie, can I talk to you for a second," Paris interjected as Dawn and Rob continued to bicker.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Well, I'm not really good at stuff like this, but here goes—Charlie Haas really likes you and he asked me to put in a good word for him."

"Charlie?" Jackie said, peering across the club.  "He's cute and all, but he's not really my type."

"How can he not be your type?  He's totally hot and he's an All-American—from Seton Hall, no less," Paris stated, feigning expertise on Ivy League colleges.  In reality, she had no idea where Seton Hall was even located.

"That's just it—he's a smart college guy.  Girls like me never attract the Kurt Angle types."

"Yeah, well, we're not talking about Kurt Angle.  We're talking about Charlie and he totally likes you."

"Well, if things don't work out with Mark, maybe I'll give it a shot."

Jackie smiled and flitted off toward the others before Paris could put in her two cents that Mark Jindrak was nothing more than a conceited pretty boy.  Jackie would be lucky to have a sweet guy like Charlie, but Paris got the impression that Jackie had a little problem with self-esteem, especially after that 'girls like me' comment.  Paris couldn't believe how many beautiful women she had met so far that were so down on themselves that they'd settle for any jerk off who came along, even if the guy treated them like total dog shit.  First, Amy, and now, Jackie.  Even Trish seemed to have some insecurities about her looks and her body.  Of course, Paris scolded herself that she was no one to talk.  She had plenty of insecurities as it was and was really in no position to judge anyone else.

Paris was jolted out of her self-effacing reverie by a voice asking her to dance.  She looked up and her eyes met the dark, flashing eyes of Matt Hardy.  Paris regarded him with skepticism, still not entirely convinced that Matt was the person everyone seemed to think he was. 

"What?" she asked, pretending she hadn't heard him.

"I said do you want to dance?" Matt repeated.

"With you?"

"No, with Brad Pitt—of course, with me.  That is unless I'm not up to your high standards, Paris."

"Sure, I'll dance with you, Matt.  It's just that…" Her voice trailed off.

"What?"

"I don't know—I guess I just figured that you didn't like me."

"Why would you think such a thing, Paris?" Matt questioned as he led her onto the dance floor for yet another slow song."

"Oh, I don't know—just a feeling, I guess."

"Well, I don't dislike you—far from it, in fact.  You seem like a pretty cool girl to me.  Hey, if I wasn't worried about Amy getting jealous, I'd probably be all over it, but I'm a faithful boyfriend.  Besides, Rob over there would probably get really jealous."

"What do you mean?" Paris asked as she mentally questioned Matt's sincerity and made a silent vow to take whatever he said with a grain of salt.

"He doesn't always show his feelings, but RVD…he wants you bad."

"Really?"

"Come on, Paris, it's not like we all haven't noticed how cute you are.  I mean you're an attractive girl—even my brother noticed and I'm not even sure he likes girls."

"Are you saying Jeff's gay?" Paris exclaimed, a bit taken aback by Matt's insensitive tone.

"I never said that.  We're just not sure if he's into girls that much."

Paris wondered who the 'we' was that Matt was referring to.  Apparently, Jeff's sexuality was a topic he discussed with others as well.  Paris had to wonder what Matt would say about an enemy if he could speak about his own brother in such a way.  Regardless of that, she decided to change the subject back to Rob Van Dam and his alleged attraction to her.

"So Rob really likes me?"

"Of course he does—he just likes to play it cool and all.  You should go ask him to dance."

"I don't know, Matt—I mean, we made up and all, but he seemed pretty pissed off about the whole thing with Randy Orton."

"More like jealous," Matt clarified.  "He's just looking out for your best interests.  We all know how guys like Randy are, but that's not for me to get into."

"Maybe I'll have to check into that.  Thanks for the dance, Matt."

Matt nodded graciously as he guided Paris back to the tables, where Jay and Lisa were canoodling and Trish, Chris, and Amy were saying goodbye to Stephanie and Shawn, who were calling it a night.  Paris bid them goodnight as well and then, concentrated on finding out if Matt was telling the truth as she attempted to make eye contact with Rob.  Her attempts, however, seemed to be in vain as Rob appeared to be treating her with the same casual, cool aloofness that she had used on him earlier.  His lack of attention only served to frustrate her further, thus prompting her to imbibe several more Hand Grenades.  Feeling confident if not a bit cocky, Paris strolled over to the dart boards and seductively touched the back of Rob's neck, instantaneously garnering his attention.

"Hey," she whispered in his ear.  "Bored with darts yet?"

"You got something better in mind?" Rob drawled.

"How about a dance?"

Rob didn't answer, but smiled devilishly as he put his arm around her waist and guided her to the dance floor where the band was launching into 'Stranglehold' by Ted Nugent.  Paris gasped slightly as Rob pulled her tightly against his body and twined his arms around her waist, one hand resting firmly on her derriere.  Paris linked her arms around Rob's neck, pressing her body against him as she trailed her fingers through his silky hair, which was pulled back in its ever-present ponytail.  Rob murmured softly in her ear as her hands gently rested on the back of his neck.

"Leading me on again?" he teased.

"No, just having fun," Paris replied.

"Are we a little inebriated?"

"Maybe just a little," she stated, her voice laced with tipsiness.

Rob sighed.  "You're such a little tease, Paris."

"Am I?" she pouted.

"Mmm hmm.  That's not nice, you know."

"What?"

"Getting a guy all hot and bothered like that."

"Is that what I'm doing to you, Rob?" Paris asked, innocently as she moved her hips slowly and torturously against his.

Rob breathed in quickly as a surge of blood rushed to his head, hammering his temples until he couldn't see straight.  The tightening in his groin had become unbearable and he knew that if he didn't make his move now, his chances of nailing this girl would be slim and none once Randy Orton was back in the picture.  Slowly but deliberately, Rob moved his hands to circle Paris' waist, his fingers tracing the bare skin above her jeans.  As they moved to the music, Paris suddenly pulled away from Rob and turned around, her back pressing against his chest.  Rob let his lips graze the back of her neck as he caressed the soft skin of her bare midriff.  Paris continued to dance, sensually grinding her shapely rear end against Rob, arousing him to no limit.  Rob subtly moved his hands up under her shirt, cupping the undersides of her breasts, eliciting a small moan from Paris as she threw her head back to rest on his shoulder.  Rob could have swore he heard her breath the word 'Randy,' but he decided to push the thought from his mind.  There was no way in hell he was not going to fuck this girl tonight.

As the song began to wind down, Rob moved to one side and deftly snaked his arm around Paris' waist, gripping her tightly and guiding her toward a darkened corridor in the back.  Once they were out of sight, Rob roughly pinned Paris against the wall and captured her lips in a demanding kiss.  Paris tried to kiss him back with equal enthusiasm, but she was too busy trying to fight the cobwebs that were threatening to cloud her mind.  Her brain was swimming and she gasped for breath as Rob released her lips, but continued to rain fiery kisses down her neck and across her chest.  She closed her eyes as he nuzzled her neck, his tongue tracing tiny circles on her skin.  Deep in her heart, she knew this was wrong.  She barely knew this guy—or any of these people for that matter.  The last thing she wanted to do was gain more notoriety than she already had.  No doubt the entire ring crew thought she was some psychotic slut, thanks to that bitch, Sarah.  As much as she liked Randy, she was sure that Evolution probably had their own ideas about her as well.  The last thing she wanted was for her friends to think badly of her, too.  Suddenly, she was aware that Rob had stopped kissing her and was looking at her expectantly as if waiting for her to say something.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Paris asked, somewhat bewildered.

"I said do you wanna get out of here?" Rob repeated.

"Sure," Paris replied, running her hands through her hair.  "I'm not feeling too well."

"Why don't you go outside and get some fresh air?  I'll tell the others we're calling it a night, OK?"

Paris nodded as Rob made his way back into the club and she headed out the back door where she gulped the cool night air and tried to stop her head from spinning.

Meanwhile, Rob pushed toward the patio and approached the tables where his friends were gathered.  Chris and Trish were standing nearby, so Rob asked them where Paris' purse and jacket were.

"Her purse is here with mine and she didn't bring a jacket," Trish replied.  "Why?"

"She's not feeling well," Rob explained, feigning concern for Trish's benefit.  "I think she had one too many Hand Grenades.  We're gonna head back to the hotel."

Trish eyed him warily and shot a knowing glance at Amy.  Chris, however, seemed impressed by Rob's show of empathy for Paris' condition and promptly handed the purse over to RVD.

"Take care of her, man," Jericho urged.

"And we're in room 2210," Trish added, pointedly.  "Paris has a key card in her purse.  Make sure she gets back to our room safely, Rob."

Rob caught on immediately as Trish enunciated each of her words to get her point across clearly.

"Don't worry, Trish," Chris interjected before Rob could speak.  "She'll be fine.  See ya later, Rob."

"Do you think that was wise?" Trish snapped as Rob disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Chris retorted upon seeing the look of disbelief on his girlfriend's pretty face.  "Rob's OK.  Besides, I think he likes Paris a little.  He won't try anything.  He's not that kind of guy."

"Well, according to Amy, he is that kind of guy and Paris is drunk."

"So what do you want me to do, Trish?  We can't baby sit her 24/7.  She's fine, OK?  Just relax and try to enjoy yourself."

Trish conceded, but continued to cast worrisome glances at Amy, who by the look on her face, was equally concerned.

It seemed like Rob had only been gone a second or two when he returned with her purse.  Paris was leaning against the wall, trying to stop the head spins.  God, I hope I don't throw up or do something stupid to embarrass myself, Paris told herself.  She didn't really see Rob clearly as he slid his arm around her waist and helped her stand upright.  She leaned on him for support and managed to regain her balance as they walked toward the hotel.

I hope I'm not doing anything stupid, Paris' mind echoed as images of Randy Orton popped into her head.

**Please review—sorry this chapter and the next one seem long, but I had to create some different interactions for upcoming plots.  Thanks.**

**---------Evilution.**


	12. Bad Decisions

Chapter 12 – Bad Decisions

By Evilution

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, except Paris and Amanda. All wrestlers belong to WWE and all Vegas material is from the movie Oceans Eleven. Also, I don't own or are affiliated with any places or businesses mentioned.

Warning: This chapter gets a little steamy—thus, the R rating.

By the time Paris and Rob reached the hotel, Paris had pretty much regained her bearings, but she was overcome by a wave of fatigue, wanting nothing more than to just go to sleep, so it was relatively easy for Rob to persuade her to accompany him to his room. He unlocked the door and the darkness evaporated as he turned on one lamp and then, excused himself to go to the bathroom. He didn't bother to shut the door and he could hear Paris moving around as she kicked off her boots and collapsed on the bed.

Rob hoped that she wasn't going to get all coy and pretend that she was too drunk to take the next step, because he knew better. Paris knew exactly what she was doing—she was obviously no blushing virgin, not that he had thought that in the first place. Rob checked himself in the mirror as he zipped up his pants and adjusted his package. Smoothing his hair, he guaranteed that in about fifteen minutes, it wasn't going to be Randy Orton's name that Paris was screaming.

Strolling back into the main room, Rob observed that Paris had stretched out on his bed and was pretending to sleep, but she inadvertently looked up as he approached the bed.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, slipping off his shirt.

She shook her head, closing her eyes once again. Rob lowered himself on top of her, cupping her face with one hand and kissing her sensually. Paris responded, but broke the kiss off abruptly.

"Maybe I better go," she said.

"You don't have to leave. I promise we won't do anything you don't want to. Can't we just make out for a while?"

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, I kind of told Randy I'd see him again and…"

"Randy's not here, is he?"

"No, but…"

"What happens in New Orleans, stays in New Orleans. Now, just relax."

Paris was too exhausted to argue, so she just laid back as Rob hungrily trailed kisses all along her neck and down the hollow of her throat. Paris sighed, passion getting the better of her, as he continued downward, scattering feathery kisses across her breasts, which swelled gently over the top of her shirt.

"Paris, will you let me see your piercing now?"

Rob didn't wait for her to answer as he undid the ribbons that laced up the front of her shirt and pushed it open, revealing two of the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. In her left nipple, she had a vertical barbell with a tiny dolphin dangling from it. Rob pulled Paris toward him and lowering his head, circled his tongue around the barbell, gently tugging on the dolphin with his teeth. Paris arched her back as she twined her fingers in his hair. He continued to tease her relentlessly, feeling a sudden warmth as he slid his hand between her legs. Rob felt as if he was going to go insane with lust. Matt had been right—this was definitely going to be worth it.

And it was about to get better. Rob continued to kiss his way down her body, running his tongue over her flat stomach, pausing to tease the silver ring in her navel as he had done with the dolphin.

"Don't stop," Paris urged as Rob began unbuttoning her jeans and slid them off of her long legs.

She was wearing a white lace thong, which Rob made short work of, tossing the damp piece of material onto the floor. Wasting no time, he parted her legs and began to tease her torturously. Paris arched violently as his tongue touched her in places she knew she shouldn't be letting him touch.

Rob smirked inwardly as he glanced up at Paris from between her legs. He couldn't wait until he could drop a few hints to that arrogant little Evolution fuck that he wasn't the only one who had 'been to Paris,' so to speak. Rob couldn't exactly pinpoint why he hated Randy Orton so much. Maybe it was just his attitude, which was a direct reflection of Triple H. Maybe it was the fact that Randy was in Vince's good graces and Rob wasn't. Or maybe it was the fact that Rob was finally going to get the push he deserved, starring in a feud over the Intercontinental title with Jay, culminating in Rob winning the title at the end of the month. But as Vince had recently informed him, the reign would be short lived. It was already planned that in a couple months, Rob was going to drop the title to none other than Randy Orton. It just didn't seem fair. Rob spent years busting his ass and for what? So the son of Cowboy Bob Orton, a mediocre wrestler at best in Rob's opinion, could steal his thunder. Therefore, following Matt's rationale, Rob only saw it fitting that if Randy was going to take something that rightfully belonged to Rob, he was going to take something that Randy wanted. Plus, he was still laboring under the thought that Paris was way too cocky for her own good and needed to be shown the meaning of humility.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Rob went back to the task at hand. He could have spent hours teasing Paris, as she had so cunningly done to him, but he wanted to fuck her so bad, he was about to go crazy. Raising himself up, he began to undo his jeans, reveling in the fact that the only way that nailing Paris could be any more perfect was if Randy Orton walked in right now. But it was all about to come crashing down. And with just one word…

"Randy," Paris practically whispered.

Rob paused. That was twice now that she had called him Randy. He sighed with disgust. Frankly, this really wasn't worth it. It was bad enough that he was going to have to suffer a humiliating loss to Randy Orton, but he was having to endure this humiliation as well. Paris obviously wanted no one but Mr. RKO. The only things that would be gained if Rob went ahead and fucked her would be that she'd probably hate him for life, which wasn't the end of the world but he wanted to keep his options open, and Evolution would probably kick his ass, which wasn't a major deal either. He grinned slightly. So he hadn't gotten a piece of ass. He'd gotten enough to fuck with Randy Orton's mind a little bit and that almost made the whole incident worth it after all.

"Why'd you stop?" Paris asked, quietly as he rolled off of her.

"Go to sleep, Paris," he told her. "I don't take advantage of intoxicated women."

"You're so sweet," Paris mumbled as she cuddled up next to him. Rob sighed once again.

There was nothing more he could do besides turn out the lights and go to sleep.

The next morning

Paris awoke to sunlight glaring into her eyes. It only took her a moment to become oriented and to realize that she wasn't alone. A shirtless Rob Van Dam lay next to her, snoring lightly, his arm curved around her waist. She looked around and discovered to her horror that her shirt was wide open and her pants and underwear were nowhere to be found. Oh my God, her brain screamed, what have I done?

Gently, she eased her way out from under Rob's arm. It didn't take her long to find her pants and shoes, but her underwear was still mysteriously missing. She quickly pulled on her jeans and laced her shirt before shaking Rob awake. He blinked for several moments, before stretching and yawning loudly.

"Good morning, Paris—I can see you're still able to walk."

"Rob, just tell me the truth," she demanded as he propped himself up in bed and smirked insolently at her. "Did we…you know?"

"Fuck?" Rob replied, crudely, finishing her sentiments but not exactly using the word she was thinking of. "You mean you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"The earth moved, the angels wept, the heavens opened up and…"

"Oh God!"

"That's what you kept saying last night, over and over again."

"Oh my God!"

Rob laughed mockingly at her discomfort. Maybe she had been more intoxicated than he thought. Then again, she was probably just playing coy again.

"What's so goddamn funny?" she shouted.

"You are," he replied, chuckling arrogantly.

"I can't believe you took advantage of me when I was drunk!"

"Took advantage of you?" Rob shot back, incredulously. "You're really a piece of work, you know that, Paris. Who was the one who approached me in the club? Who was the one rubbing up against me? Who came back to my room? Who was the one who didn't say no? And now, you're gonna make me out to be the bad guy? You know what—fine! Whatever. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. Obviously, I was thinking with my dick and not my brain."

"Speaking of your dick, did you use a condom?"

"And what if I hadn't?"

"Just answer the question!"

"No, I didn't use a condom, OK? You know why? Because we didn't fuck, that's why!"

Paris was confused. "But I thought you said that…"

"I never said we did."

Rob laughed again, that mocking laugh that was really getting on her nerves.

"Then why was I naked?"

"Oh, we did plenty, believe me," Rob told her, his voice edged with sarcasm. "We stopped just short of the main event though."

"Why?" Paris asked, warily. She had the distinct impression that he was toying with her and loving every minute of it. Any trust she had for Rob had just gone out the proverbial window.

"Gee, I don't know why, Paris," Rob shouted, sarcastically. "Maybe I'm kind of a freak of nature, but I tend to lose my hard-on when I'm about to slide it in and my woman's moaning some other guy's name. I don't know—maybe some guys like that, but it kind of kills the mood for me!"

"Who's name was I saying?" Paris asked, timidly, worried that he was going to go off on her at any second.

"Who do you think, babe?" Rob snapped. "Mr. Wonderful, the King of Evolution, Mr. RKO himself—Randy Orton! Obviously, you've already given it up for him so why the fuck are you wasting my time?"

"For your information, I haven't 'given it up' to anyone!"

"Yeah, right. Matt was right about you—you think you're shit don't stink and your pussy's lined with gold, just like that bitch, Amy."

"Matt said that I think my…you know, is lined with gold?"

"Yeah, he did," Rob shot back.

"Well, unfortunately for Matt, he'll never know whether it is or not!" Paris shouted as she gathered her things and stormed towards the door. "And neither will you!"

Once again, Rob chuckled arrogantly as he leaned against the wall, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, princess, but I do know. I mean, we may not have fucked, but I got plenty of pleasure out of you, Paris, as I'm sure Randy Orton will, too. And if you're headed down the path I think you are, I'm sure Triple H and Batista will get quite a bit of use out of you as well. I'll have to drop a hint to Evolution that you like…how should I say this?—oral gratification."

"Fuck you!"

Rob snorted. "No, thanks," he replied, callously. "You've got everyone really fooled, Paris. Chris and Trish think you're this sweet little angel that they can baby and buy presents for. Amy thinks you're like this little sister she can mold in her own image. Why don't you quit fucking with everyone around here and go take your place as Evolution's whore? At least, you'd be useful to someone. Now, get the fuck out!"

Paris slammed the door and stalked down the hallway, tears spilling out of her eyes. She had never been so humiliated in her entire life. No one had ever said such cruel things to her. All she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and cry herself to sleep. After that, maybe she'd call Danny and beg him to let her come home. Unable to find her key card, she pounded on the door until Chris let her in. She stomped past him, threw her things on the floor, and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Chris looked at Trish, eyebrows raised, and shrugged. Trish immediately picked up on his cues and tapped gently on the bathroom door.

"Paris, open the door," Trish said.

"Go away!" came the muffled reply.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" she urged, her face etched with worry. "You can tell us—that's what friends are for."

Paris flung the door open, tears streaming down her face, and threw herself into Trish's arms.

"You better tell me what happened," Chris demanded, picking up on the knowing look he got from Trish over Paris' head. "Or I'll go find Van Dam and beat it out of him. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Chris!" Trish practically shouted as Chris' comment brought on a brand new deluge of sobbing from Paris.

Trish finally managed to calm Paris down enough so that she was able to relate the whole sordid story back to them—what she could remember, that is.

"I never meant for this to happen," Paris said through her tears. "But it's all my fault. I came on to Rob at the club because I was lonely and homesick and I wanted to be with Randy. God, I'm so stupid!"

"You're not stupid," Chris said. "But you probably shouldn't have gone to his room with him."

"That's the part I don't really remember."

"Enough," Trish stated with finality. "Rehashing it isn't going to change things. Paris is going to take a long, hot bath and then, we're going to meet Amy for breakfast and we're going to forget all this nonsense about you going home."

"Maybe it's for the best if I go," Paris lamented. "Rob's just going to rip my reputation to shreds even more than Sarah already has. Randy's not going to want anything to do with me."

"You're not going anywhere," Trish told her. "Except into the bathtub. As for Randy, it's not like he's your boyfriend yet or anything. Let him decide for himself."

"Besides," Chris added. "Rob's not going to be bragging too much—especially if he didn't seal the deal because you kept calling him Randy."

Paris conceded defeat as Trish ushered her into the bathroom and Chris said he was going to check out the gym. In reality, he wanted to go have a few words with one Mr. Van Dam and find out exactly what the hell he was up to. It didn't help matters that Trish had confided in him last night that Paris was a virgin. Paris had told her at the club and that's why Trish had been so concerned about Paris leaving with Rob in the condition she was in. Chris felt bad because he had blown her off, dismissing her worry as nosiness. Now, this had to go and happen. Chris couldn't figure out what Rob had to gain. He had known Rob for a lot of years and deflowering virgins wasn't really his style.

Unless, of course, he was that bitter and jealous about having to job the Intercontinental title to Orton. Everyone knew that Randy was interested in Paris and in Chris' opinion, Randy was a good kid, as long as he could remain free of Triple H's influence. So far, Randy and Batista had both been able to keep their professional and their personal lives separate where Paul was concerned, maintaining the 'image' of Evolution when necessary, and few people knew that Chris and Jay actually had a casual friendship that was built out of mutual respect with the two younger members of Evolution. Paul didn't know it and Chris didn't even think Amy and Trish knew, but it was a fact.

Chris also knew that Rob was probably getting less than good advice from Matt Hardy. Chris really didn't understand Matt's motivation either, except that Matt always seemed to think that he had to be at the center of the rumor mills. All he knew was that for some reason, Matt didn't like Paris. Maybe it was the fact that Amy was starting to listen to her friends about Matt's insensitive treatment of her. Chris got the impression that Matt and Amy were headed for a major breakup and Paris just happened to be in the line of fire, being that she was one of the more vocal and opinionated of Amy's friends. Chris had no doubt that Matt had put the bug in Rob's ear about taking Paris down a few notches. Matt's immaturity and insecurity had only grown since Jeff had been gone and he knew he was on the verge of losing Amy, especially with her return to RAW drawing near. What surprised Chris was that Rob had gone along with it. Apparently, the soon-to-be Intercontinental champion hated Randy Orton more than anyone knew.

Meanwhile, after Paris left, Rob jumped in the shower feeling pretty damn good about himself for telling the bitch off once and for all. Maybe Matt was right about this new attitude. However, Rob couldn't understand why he couldn't shake the tiny worm of self-loathing that was gnawing at his stomach. Brushing it off, he threw on his workout gear and dropped a dime on Matt, telling him to meet him in the gym.

"So what's so important that you tore me away from a morning blowjob?" Matt demanded, rushing into the gym.

"You were getting a morning blowjob?" Rob retorted. "Yeah, right."

"Well, maybe I was just thinking about getting one—anyway, what's going on?"

"Guess where I was last night?"

Matt caught on to the look on Rob's face. "Hmm, let me guess—in Paris?"

"Well, unfortunately, it didn't go that far."

"So what happened?"

"OK, so she's naked, right? And I've been downtown for a good ten minutes and I'm about to nail her and she starts fucking calling me Randy!"

"No way! So did you fuck her?"

"No, I let her pass out, but this morning, I fucked with her head a little bit. I told her to go take her place with Evolution and be their whore because they'll all probably be getting some sooner or later anyway."

"Well, that was nice of you," Matt replied, dryly, as he silently admired Rob's lack of tact where Miss Paris was concerned.

"Hey, your name even got brought up, Matt."

"Great—what'd she say about me?"

"I told her about your 'pussy lined with gold' comment."

Matt laughed. "So is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is her pussy lined with gold?"

"No chick's pussy is line with gold."

"Now, that's what I like to hear, Rob," Matt stated. "You may be catching on after all. So how was it?"

"It was nice, but I kept feeling like I was fucking with Evolution's property."

"So why didn't you just fuck her anyway?"

"Gee, I don't know, Matt," Rob said, sarcastically. "After she kept moaning Randy Orton's name, it kind of killed the mood for me."

Matt lifted a barbell and pumped it with his right arm. "You should have flipped her over and fucked her doggie-style just for bringing him up," he said, casually. "Or better yet, you should have just fucked her up the ass."

Several of the gym patrons glanced up at Matt's rude commentary.

"Come on, man—show some class, for Christ's sake!" Rob hissed.

"Oh, and you were being a class act when you pretty much told her to go gang bang RKO, Batista, and Trips? Yeah, that's classy, Rob! She'll just be pounding down your door to get some now."

"Fuck you."

"Look, man—move on. So you got a little taste and you liked it—no pun intended. Do you really want Evolution's sloppy seconds?"

"No, not really."

"Then, get over it. Hey, Jackie Gayda's available and I hear Stacy Kiebler's gonna be available pretty soon, too. She and Test are having 'major issues' to quote Amy and Trish."

"Not interested," Rob replied as he glanced up to see Chris Jericho enter the gym, walking as if he were on a mission.

"Yo, Chris," Matt said.

"Save it," Chris shot back. "You, motherfucker," he said, pointing at Rob. "What gives, man? I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend, Chris," Rob protested.

"Then you wouldn't have done what you did to Paris—and I think you put him up to it," Chris said, glancing at Matt.

"So what if I did?" Matt retorted.

"All of this because she thinks that you treat Amy like shit and because Rob hates Randy Orton," Chris exploded. "Why don't you guys fucking grow up? Why do have to get an innocent girl mixed up in your bullshit?"

"Look, my relationship with Amy is none of anyone's business, especially Paris," Matt stated. "As for Rob, Paris was fucking with him, just like all chicks do to nice guys like him. I just told him to take control, that's all."

"My only intention was to take her ego down a few notches," Rob replied, nonchalantly. "I didn't force her to do anything and I didn't hurt her. I think you're a little misinformed on that innocent part, Chris."

"You may not have physically hurt her, but you hurt her feelings."

"That was the intent," Matt smirked.

"I just told her the truth, dude," Rob said, casually shrugging.

"Oh, so I guess it was perfectly acceptable for you to tell her to go be Evolution's plaything?" Chris was appalled at their cavalier attitude.

Rob snorted. "We all know that's where she's headed."

"Look, man, just stay away from her—both of you."

"Chris, it was no big deal," Rob told him. "I just went down on her."

"No big deal?" Chris replied, incredulous. "Did you know she's still a virgin?"

"Bullshit!" Matt scoffed. "No girl looks like that, has that much money, and is still a virgin."

"Trish told me last night—Paris told her at the club and I never should have let her leave with you, as drunk as she was. Now, she's probably worried that she lost her virginity and can't even remember it."

Rob tried to look contrite, but Chris saw right through his insincerity. "I didn't know, Chris."

"Well, now you do. Stay the fuck away from her or I go to Shane McMahon."

"Fine, I won't bother her again." Rob put up his hands in concession.

"Oh, and I wouldn't go bragging too much, Rob. You wouldn't want everyone to find out that she was calling Randy Orton's name while you were working your magic, now, would you?"

Chris gave both of his 'supposed' friends a disgusted look before exiting the gym. Matt brushed him off like one would an annoying insect.

"Forget him," Matt said. "No one has to know the part about Randy Orton. As far as your concerned, you never heard her say it, right? You can be sure I'm gonna be telling people about it."

Rob smiled unpleasantly. "Don't worry, Matt—there's at least one person who's gonna find out that I've been to Paris and back—and I think we both know who he is."

Later that morning, the RAW stars boarded their bus for their two day road trip to Tallahassee while Stephanie, Matt, and the remaining SmackDown stars flew home for a couple days off before their weekend schedule began with a Saturday house show in Savannah, Georgia. The RAW stars had a house show Friday night in Tallahassee, two shows on Saturday and Sunday in Fort Lauderdale, and then, RAW on Monday in Huntsville, Alabama.

Paris watched from her seat on the bus as Stephanie bid Shawn a tearful goodbye before she hopped in the shuttle to the airport. Amy also said goodbye to Matt, but it wasn't near as tearful. Paris could have sworn she saw relief flit across the beautiful redhead's face. Maybe even a little anticipation—after all, Amy hadn't seen Batista since Tuesday morning and they hadn't even talked. Steve boarded the bus wearing dark glasses and imploring everyone not to be so loud. Paris knew how he felt although she assumed that the Texas Rattlesnake undoubtedly consumed far more alcohol than she had. Jay and Lisa exited the hotel together and shared a seat on the bus, prompting everyone to wonder what kind of hook-up had occurred and Jackie was still glued to Mark's side, although he didn't seem to be paying much attention to her. Paris couldn't help but think that the sultry blond would have been better off choosing Charlie Haas, but he had already boarded the shuttle along with the other SmackDown stars, a look of longing aimed at Jackie.

Paris was looking forward to getting a little sun being that it had been pretty rainy in Louisiana, but she wasn't looking forward to spending two days on a bus with Rob. Thank God, Matt had already left. Chris had relayed bits of his conversation with Rob and Matt to Paris and Trish, and much to Paris' horror, she got the feeling that Matt hated her even more that she thought he did. After Matt's shuttle left, Paris watched out the window as Trish pulled Amy aside to talk to her. Amy immediately got a disgusted look on her face and glanced up at Paris through the window on the bus. Then, she shot her gaze toward Matt's departing shuttle. Paris could only assume that Trish must have briefly filled Amy in on what had happened with Rob and Matt's apparent involvement as well. She knew that Amy's inherent dislike of Rob would only be fueled further by his callous treatment of Paris. Paris could only hope that perhaps the situation would force Amy to look at Matt in a different light.

They were finally on the road to Florida and Paris was able to relax with her friends. Rob sat up front with the Dudley Boys and refused to even look at her, which was fine with Paris. Hopefully, Randy wouldn't hear too many horrible things about her. After all, she had been thinking about him and that was what caused all the problems in the first place. She resolved to put the past behind her. Friday was payday and she would be getting a new assignment for next week. It was exciting despite her inner turmoil and she was glad she had stayed.

She had so much more evolving to do.

Please review. Sorry it's taken so long to update. I only have a couple more chapters to go. Sorry to Matt Hardy and RVD fans for making them such jerks. I honestly like Matt and Rob, but someone had to play the antagonist to make Randy and Batista more likable. Thanks again.

**-------Evilution**


	13. Break Ups and New Beginnings

Chapter 13 – Break Ups and New Beginnings

By Evilution

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except for Paris and Amanda. I also do not own any of the places or businesses mentioned.

Friday afternoon, the RAW superstars who had been in Louisiana doing personal appearances arrived in Tallahassee, Florida. The bus ride, which had gone non-stop since Thursday morning, had been relatively uneventful. Paris was glad to be off the bus and the warmer climate only boosted her spirits more. Their first stop was the hotel, where several other RAW superstars, who had not been with their group, had already checked in. Paris and Trish secured their room and took the luggage upstairs while Chris made some inquiries about renting a vehicle. Amy was rooming with Lisa Varon, but Paris could tell that her mind was elsewhere. The redhead's eyes kept subtly roaming the lobby and parking lot and Paris could only assume that she was looking for Batista, being that she still hadn't had a chance to talk to him. Paris herself was more than anxious to see Randy, but unfortunately, there was no sign of Evolution anywhere.

Once in their room, Trish packed up the gear that she and Chris would need for the show that night while Paris took the opportunity to shower and change clothes. Since they had been on the bus all night, no one had had a chance to shower that morning. Trish took her turn after Paris was done and they didn't have to wait very long for Chris to show up. Within the hour, he secured a rented SUV and once they rounded up Amy, Jay, and Lisa, they were on their way to the arena.

The first thing Paris did when they arrived at the Leon County Civic Center was to find a script so she could mark Chris' spots for him. Then, she secured his costume from Colleen and grabbed Trish, Jay, and Amy's outfits as well since they were sharing a locker room with Chris. All three stars thanked her for her consideration and Paris spent most of the rehearsal time just hanging out in the locker room, not wanting to risk running into Rob and having to deal with a confrontation. The only person who came looking for her was Shane to present her with her first paycheck. Shortly before the show was about to start, Paris got bored and decided to go look for Randy, even at the risk of encountering RVD. She made her way down a long corridor and turned a corner, only to run right into Amy, who was having a private conversation with Batista. Both superstars looked up as she approached.

"Sorry, guys," Paris apologized. "I was just going to see Randy."

Amy smiled knowingly at Batista, who cocked his eyebrow at Paris.

"Looking for Randy, eh?" Batista teased. "He's in our locker room," the large man went on as he jerked his thumb toward the door behind his massive shoulders. "Just go on in—Paul and Ric aren't here yet."

Paris nodded as she left Batista and Amy to their 'tryst' and quietly entered Evolution's locker room.

"Randy?" she called, tentatively, violet eyes scanning the empty dressing room. Faintly, she heard a shower running toward the back.

"Randy?" she called again, a little more loudly.

There was no answer, so Paris slowly made her way toward the shower area, keeping her eyes modestly lowered, just in case he happened to jump out at her, naked or something. A few more steps and the shower area came into view. Through the steam, Paris could make out the silhouette of a man. He had his back to her, but Paris knew it had to be Randy. She stopped in her tracks, taking in quite a view as warm water coursed over his muscled back and tight butt. She began to call his name, but the voyeur in her had to take just a moment to enjoy the scenery. Silently, she admired the ripped contours of his shoulders, back, and legs. Standing there, naked as the day he was born, Randy Orton was arguably the most perfect man she had ever laid eyes on.

"Hey, Paris," a sexy voice drawled, jolting her out of her trance.

"Randy," she exclaimed, averting her eyes. "I tried calling you, but you didn't hear and …"

Randy chuckled softly. "It's OK. Hand me that towel, would you, babe?"

Paris grabbed a towel off of a nearby bench and practically threw it at him, still not meeting his eyes. "I'll just wait out here," she said, quickly ducking back into the main part of the locker room.

Randy smirked as he toweled himself off, enjoying her discomfort. He wrapped the towel around his waist and approached Paris with a cocky, very Ortonistic swagger.

"Enjoy the show?" he teased, insolently.

"I wasn't staring!" Paris protested. "I was just looking…"

"Just looking?"

"I was looking for you because I wanted to see you again and…"

"I think you already saw plenty of me, don't you?"

"Stop it! Stop teasing me!"

Randy laughed as he pulled her into a friendly hug. Paris gasped, intoxicated by the proximity of his damp, warm skin.

"I'm just kidding," he grinned. "So how was New Orleans?"

Paris shrugged noncommittally as he released her. She didn't quite know which bothered her more—being freed from his arms or thinking about the disturbing events that occurred in New Orleans.

"It was OK," she replied, unenthusiastically. "Nothing to write Dear John about or anything."

Randy stared at her in disbelief. He found it hard to fathom how a young, beautiful girl could not enjoy The Big Easy, but obviously, something had upset her, so he decided to let sleeping dogs lie—for now.

"Yeah, I had a pretty boring week, too," he stated. "Just kicked back at home."

"Which is where?"

"St. Louis—it's where I grew up."

"I thought Batista said you were from Texas."

"Yeah, well, he's an idiot."

Paris laughed.

"So what are you doing tonight?" Randy went on.

"Hopefully going out with you?"

Randy smiled. "I'll meet you at the hotel? After the show?"

"I'll be there," Paris replied, shyly.

Randy nodded as the door swung open and Batista walked in, followed by Paul Levesque and Ric Flair. Paris smiled again before standing on her tiptoes and giving Randy a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Hi, guys! Bye, guys!" she chirped as she flitted out of the room, leaving Paul glaring at Randy, Ric looking confused, and Batista smiling admirably.

Randy smirked pimpishly at Paul before strolling back to his locker and leaving his teammates to discuss his most recent good fortune where Miss Paris was concerned.

Meanwhile, Amy was waiting for Paris in the hallway and the redheaded diva wasted no time digging for dirt on her blond friend.

"So," Amy urged. "What happened?"

Paris shrugged. "Nothing much. I just told him that I was glad to see him again and he asked me to go out tonight."

"Hmm. And what about Van Dam?"

"Rob Van Dam can go fuck himself," Paris said with finality, prompting a snort of mirth from Amy. "I assume Trish told you the gist of what happened," Paris went on.

Amy nodded. "Because you're my friend, I won't say I told you so."

"Thanks," Paris replied, dryly.

"And I can't wait to see one Mr. Matt Hardy next week so I can dump his ass for his involvement in the whole mess."

"You're dumping him?" Paris asked, shocked. "You shouldn't do anything rash just because of me."

Amy let out a disgusted sigh. "Well, I have yet to confront him about it, but I wouldn't doubt that he had something to do with it—not that Van Dam needs that much encouragement to be an asshole."

Paris couldn't have agreed more, but she had no desire to discuss Rob or Matt any further. "So what happened with Batista?" she asked, changing the subject.

"We just talked about Monday night. I told him that I don't normally get that drunk. He wants to go out again, but…I don't know. I probably shouldn't."

"What! Why not?"

"Well, because of Matt."

"But what about Batista?"

"We're gonna be friends—for now. He knows that I'm going through a lot of shit with Matt right now and he knows that I've gotta get my head straight first. Even if Matt and I break up, it doesn't mean that rushing into a relationship with Dave would be the best thing."

Paris nodded, understanding.

"It doesn't mean we can't all hang out either," Amy put in as the turned into the 'Green Room' and settled back to watch the show.

The house show went relatively well and before Paris realized what time it was, Howard Finkel was saying goodnight to the audience and everyone was getting ready to go. As they were leaving, Paris glimpsed Amanda with the rest of the ring crew, preparing to tear down the ring. More than anything, she wanted to go talk to her friend, but there was no way she was going to make the first move with that bitch, Sarah, hanging around. Paris was surprised that nothing more had been said about her fight with Sarah, but then again, there was really no need for it. Shane had already talked to her and Paris hoped that Sarah's supervisor had spoken to her about her involvement. Paris had noticed that she was getting more than a few dirty looks from the ring crew, but she could have cared less. They were going to believe what Sarah told them anyway.

Trish and Chris had decided to stay in for the night and Lisa was going on a date with Jay, so Paris took her things to Amy's room and the girls got ready for a night out with Evolution. Paris wore a pair of tan hip hugger khakis and a black halter-top while Amy wore black cargos and an olive-green half shirt. After making sure that their hair and makeup looked as sexy as possible, Amy and Paris strolled down to the lobby, where Randy, Paul, and Batista were waiting for them. The guys took in the girls' appearance quite appreciatively and complimented them generously. Paris' ever-present cleavage garnered a bit of attention on Randy's part, but he seemed annoyed that Paul and Batista noticed as well, especially Paul. As Paris was getting into Evolution's limo, who should come walking up to the hotel, but Sarah, Amanda, and Annie. Sarah smirked nastily at Paris before grabbing Amanda and ushering her into the lobby.

The nightclub they went to was practically packed to the rafters being that it was Friday night. However, Paris had a pleasant time with Randy and his friends, chatting and dancing. Surprisingly, Randy suggested they call it a night well before two AM and well before any of them were even close to being intoxicated. His reasoning was that they had to drive to Fort Lauderdale in the morning and road trips were always hell when one was hung over. Besides, they were going to be in Lauderdale for two days—there would be plenty of time to party. Batista and Amy agreed and headed back to the hotel with Paris and Randy, while Paul chose to remain at the club.

Back at the hotel, Paris grabbed her things from Amy's room and left her friend to say goodnight to Batista as Randy walked her to Jericho's room, graciously carrying her bag for her. At the doorway, he surprised her by settling for a chaste goodnight kiss and a promise that they would hook up again in Lauderdale. Little did he know, Paris could hardly wait.

Early the next morning, there was a lot of scurrying around as superstars who may have been out too late the night before struggled to wake up at such an obscene hour and get their things and themselves onto the bus to Lauderdale. Shane was the only one who was irritatingly cheerful as he rushed around trying to round everyone up. Paris yawned as she tucked her bags into one of the cargo cans and boarded the wrestlers' bus. Much to her surprise, Evolution was already seated at the back of the bus along with Amy. She had assumed that they chose to travel on their own, but apparently, that wasn't the case. This bus was a lot roomier than the one they had taken from New Orleans, probably because there had only been a handful of superstars on that trip. This bus had to accommodate the entire roster and Paris noticed other busses, presumably for other crewmembers. As Paris looked around for a place to sit, Randy caught her eye and patted the seat next to him. As Paris moved down the aisle, Rob Van Dam suddenly stood up, blocking her path as he stowed his carry on in the overhead compartment.

"Excuse me?" Paris urged as he pretended not to notice her and continued to stand in her way.

Rob turned and looked her up and down, an expression of sardonic disgust crossing his handsome face.

"Sorry, Paris," he whispered, close to her ear. "Didn't mean to get in your way as you run panting after Evolution."

"Fuck you!" Paris hissed through clenched teeth.

Rob smirked. "No, thanks—that's Evolution's job."

He and the Dudley Boys laughed as Paris glared at them, her eyes like violet chips of ice. Unable and unwilling to take anymore, Paris reared back and shoved Rob out of her way with every ounce of strength she possessed. Rob barely moved, but stepped aside just enough to let her pass, his mocking laughter still ringing in her ears.

"What was that all about?" Randy asked, eyeing Rob warily as Paris plopped down next to him, fighting the tears of anger that threatened to spill from her eyes.

"Nothing—he's just an ass," Paris explained.

Randy nodded and let it go, but he was acutely aware that something about RVD had put Paris on the defensive, whether it was something he said or just him in general. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she was upset and that RVD was the cause of it.

The exchange between Paris and Rob Van Dam had not gone unnoticed by Paul Levesque either. Paul had been busy concentrating on Shawn Michaels' movements at the front of the bus, hoping that he didn't end up sitting close to his arch-nemesis, when he noticed RVD whisper in Paris' ear. Paris was obviously tense and uncomfortable and Van Dam had an arrogant sneer on his face that would have made Paul's alter ego, Triple H, proud. After a futile attempt to push RVD out of her way, Paris joined Evolution and sat down next to Randy, while Shawn Michaels sat towards the front of the bus with Shane McMahon, much to Paul's relief. Apparently, Shawn felt the need to do a little brown-nosing with his future brother-in-law, but as amusing as that was, it didn't completely shadow what Paul had witnessed. He wondered what could have happened between RVD and the newest flavor of the week, aside from the obvious. Randy seemed to be pondering the same notions as he continued to shoot jealous glares toward Van Dam. Oh, well, Paul though nonchalantly. Who cares what happened as long as it didn't interfere with the bet. Besides, if Paul knew his backstage contacts as well as he thought, it would only be a matter of time before one of them came running to him with news about what may or may not have occurred between Paris and RVD.

The eight-hour ride to Fort Lauderdale was relatively pleasant as Paris spent most of it chatting with Randy and getting to know him. She felt a little guilty for ignoring Jericho—after all, she was still his coordinator for a couple more days and she should have been asking him if he needed anything. However, Y2J didn't seem to mind as he dozed his seat, his head resting on Trish's shoulder while she remained engrossed in a Harry Potter book.

They arrived in Fort Lauderdale late in the afternoon and after checking into the hotel, Paris went to the arena with Chris and Trish. Because their bus arrived so close to the start of the show, there was a lot of rushing and Paris ended up being so busy that she didn't see Randy until the end of the evening. While things were winding down after the show, Paris and Amy made their way to Evolution's locker room to find out what the plans were for the night. Unfortunately, their journey was slightly delayed when they had the misfortune of running right into Sarah, Annie, and Amanda as they rounded a corner. There was an uncomfortable silence before Amanda decided to speak.

"Hey, Paris," she said, nodding.

"Hey, Amanda," Paris replied. "How've you been?"

"Good, and you?"

"Busy—we just got back from New Orleans yesterday. It was a pretty hectic trip."

Amanda nodded once again and opened her mouth to continue the conversation, awkward as it was, but Sarah chose that moment to interject herself into the discussion.

"So, Paris," she said in that smarmy tone that Paris had come to associate with Sarah. "I noticed you were all cuddly with Randy Orton when your bus pulled up to the hotel this afternoon, but then, I hear that you're dating Rob Van Dam—what gives?"

Paris rolled her eyes and gave Amy and annoyed look before smiling a very fake and insincere smile at Sarah.

"Not that my personal life is any of your concern, Sarah, but since you seem to be obsessed with me—no, I'm not dating RVD."

"Really?" Sarah went on. "Well, I just assumed after what happened in New Orleans that you two were dating. And here I thought you weren't that kind of girl, Paris."

Obviously, Sarah was privy to the rumor mills going through the WWE. No doubt Rob had already dropped a few hints about his interlude with Paris. Amy snorted and shook her head as Paris glared at Sarah warily.

"What exactly happened in New Orleans?" Paris prompted.

"Maybe you should go talk to RVD about that," Sarah said, smiling unpleasantly. "Let's go, girls—we still have a ton to do."

With that, she pushed past Paris and Amy, dragging Annie and Amanda with her. Amanda glanced over her shoulder at Paris with what could have been an apologetic look on her face before following Sarah around the corner.

"Just ignore her," Amy said. "She's a bitch and we all know it."

"Apparently, Rob's already running his mouth," Paris replied, bitterly. "What if he says something to Randy?"

"I'm sure that's precisely who he's hoping hears about it."

"And now that Sarah knows, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Randy catches wind of it. God, Van Dam is such an asshole! Why is he doing this?"

Amy sighed, seeing that Paris was close to tears. "It's just how Rob is. I tried to warn you."

Paris suddenly became angry. "Yeah, well, if that's the only thing he has to talk about, then maybe he needs to get laid a little more often so that his life isn't so boring!"

Surprise washed over Amy's face. "God, I didn't think you fucked him! Trish left that part out."

"I didn't fuck him, but I might as well have for what everyone's gonna think."

"Who cares what everyone thinks? If I had a dime for every asshole that's said I'm a dyke or I'm having threesomes with Matt and Jeff, I'd be a fucking millionaire. Wait…oh yeah, I am a millionaire."

"But what about Randy? I really like him, Ames."

Amy smiled. "Look, Randy has his own mind about things, and I happen to know he really likes you, too. He might be a little pissed off, if and when he finds out, but he knows you two weren't exclusive. You guys just met, for Christ's sake. He has no right to assume you belong to him—an unfortunate trait of Evolution, I'm afraid."  
Paris nodded and stared at the floor, pushing back the tears of humiliation that were starting to brim her violet eyes.

"Besides," Amy went on. "We both know Sarah—she's just a troublemaker, and if we can see that, I'm sure everyone else can, too."

"Everyone except Amanda," Paris replied sadly, missing her friend.

"Yeah, well, give it time. Your friend will see through her eventually."

"I'd like to just kick the shit out of her," Paris stated, wishfully.

"Oooh, go, Paris," Amy teased, pushing her friend playfully as they approached the door to Evolution's locker room.

Amy knocked and Batista let them in as he, Randy, and Paul gathered around the girls to finalize plans for the evening. It was agreed that they would meet up at the hotel after everyone changed and freshened up. Then, they were going to a place called Hourglass, which was a club on one of the main Lauderdale beaches that had a two-story dance floor as well as an outdoor tiki bar and dance floor with an all-night DJ. Paul suggested that the girls dress up because even though they would be outdoors, it was still a very exclusive club. After leaving Evolution's locker room, Amy and Paris checked in with Chris and Trish, who were going to grab some dinner with Jay and Lisa before going out. The blond couple had already changed and gotten ready at the arena. They were going to ride with Jay and Lisa, so Paris and Amy were able to use the SUV to go back to the hotel. Back at the hotel, Paris grabbed her things from Jericho's room and hurried to Amy and Lisa's room to get ready. When Paris arrived, Amy had emptied most of her suitcase on the floor and was in a dither about what she was going to wear.

"Paris, you have to help me!" the redheaded diva cried. "I'm just not good at being a girly-girl!"

Paris managed to calm Amy down and sent her into the bathroom to take a shower while Paris found her something to wear. When Amy exited the shower, Paris proceeded to do her makeup and hair. Using a spiral curling iron, Paris wove Amy's red tresses into a riotous mass of curls that she knew Dave would just be itching to tangle his hands in. Then, Paris highlighted the diva's hazel eyes with black eyeliner and exotic gold eye shadow that shimmered in the light. She finished off the all-over golden effect by lightly dusting Amy's face with bronzer. When Paris turned Amy around to look in the mirror, Amy's eyes got wide and her mouth formed a tiny O, but no words came out.

"P…Paris," Amy stammered. "What have you done to me?"

Paris was crestfallen. "Oh, you hate it!" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Hate it?" Amy exclaimed. "God, I love it! I had no idea I could be so…so…"

"Sexy and alluring?"

"Yeah, sexy and alluring. But isn't it too much?"

"No, it's perfect. Besides, this look will go great with the outfit I picked out. Here—go change," Paris ordered, tossing Amy several garments.

Paris waited patiently as she listened to Amy fuss and fumble in the other room. Finally, Amy emerged and Paris knew she made the right choice. Amy was wearing loose black pants that had splits in the sides and black heels with a copper-colored bustier. Staring at her reflection, Amy fidgeted with her top, agonizing over the generous amount of cleavage it revealed.

"I don't know if I can go out like this," she lamented. "I don't want to give Dave the wrong idea."

"Oh, come off of it, Amy!" Paris laughed as she began to get herself ready. "This is all to impress Dave—or else you wouldn't have asked me to help."

Amy blushed. "Am I terrible?" she asked. "I mean, I know I should break up with Matt first…"

"As long as that's your ultimate goal," Paris advised. "Otherwise, you'd just be leading Dave on and that's not cool. I speak from experience—I shouldn't have led Van Dam on."

"You know, you're right," Amy said. "Maybe I should call him—Matt, I mean."

"Right now?" Paris exclaimed, touching up her makeup. "Seriously? You're going to call Matt and break up with him right now?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but if I don't do it now, I'll just obsess about it all night, don't you think, Paris?"

"If that's what you gotta do to be happy…"

"Paris, it's time," Amy declared. "Don't you think I could feel it this week? And it's been building up for a long time."

"Then, I guess I'm not telling you anything you don't already know," Paris stated as she concentrated on her clothes while Amy punched Matt's number into her cell phone.

"Thanks, Sean O'Haire," Amy retorted as she paced the floor, nervously chewing on her lip.

Paris shot her a strange look, wondering who in the hell Sean O'Haire was, but she didn't have time to ask as apparently, Matt answered the phone.

"Hello?" he said, sounding annoyed.

"Hey, Matt, it's Amy." She was somewhat taken aback by his rude tone. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Well, I was sleeping," Matt replied, getting the distinct impression that she was calling to bust his balls about something.

"Jeez, sorry I bothered you," Amy said, sarcastically.

"Just get to the point," Matt told her, impatiently.

"Look, you know I'm not one to beat around the bush and since I don't want to take up any more of your precious time, I think we need some space."

There were several moments of silence before Matt spoke. "What brought this on?"

"I just think it's for the best," Amy went on. "Obviously, we weren't getting along this week and I want to be able to go out with my friends and have fun without having to worry that you'll be mad. Maybe it'd be different if you were on RAW and we got to see each other more…"

"This is because of Paris, isn't it?" Matt exploded. "You're dumping me because of that little bitch!"

"That has nothing to do with it," Amy snapped, glancing in Paris' direction.

"You're pissed because I encouraged Rob to fuck with her, aren't you?"

"He did a lot more than just 'fuck with her' as you so eloquently put it!" Amy shot back, lowering her voice.

"Maybe if she can't handle it, she doesn't belong here," Matt retorted.

"Jesus, Matt—I don't believe you! I mean, it's nice to hear you admit it, but I guess I can't believe you'd stoop that low! Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought I did!"

"Look, Amy, I hate to break this to you, but your sweet, innocent, virginal friend, Paris, is nothing more than a first-class cock tease! She came onto Rob at the club. I saw her practically dry-humping him on the dance floor and then, she's gonna whine because they fooled around a little bit? She's lucky she didn't get a hell of a lot more than she did."

"God, when did you turn into such an asshole?" Amy questioned.

"So I'm the asshole?" Matt shouted, snorting with disbelief. "Apparently, I'm the one who doesn't know you. Tell me, does this have anything to do with Evolution?"

"Why would it have anything to do with Evolution?"

"You know what, Amy? If you're so blind that you don't think anyone else can fucking see what's going on with those guys, then you're just as stupid as your fucking cock tease friend, Paris!" The word 'Paris' came out of Matt's mouth sounding as if it was something utterly distasteful.

Amy flinched at Matt's caustic tone, holding the phone away from her ear.

"I guess Rob was right," Matt went on, somewhat melodramatically. "When he said Paris was on her way to being Evolution's whore, I guess he forgot to include you in that assessment as well!"

"You know what, Matt—fuck you!" Amy screamed into the phone before hitting the end button and throwing the device across the room.

"I guess he didn't take it too well," Paris replied, nonchalantly as she put away her makeup and glanced over her shoulder.

"Well, that settles it," Amy said. The fact that she wasn't even upset spoke volumes. "You almost ready?"

"I just have to get dressed," Paris said, ducking into the other room.

"Do you think I did the right thing, Paris?" Amy yelled so Paris could hear her.

"What do you think?" Paris called back.

"I feel like a weight's been lifted off of me."

"Well, then, there's your answer. OK, how do I look?"

Paris stepped back into the main room and Amy gasped. She was wearing a black and burgundy wrap skirt with a split up one side, revealing a lightly tanned leg. On her feet, Paris wore chunky black sandals, but the piece de resistance was a sexy, black, low-cut half shirt that fastened at her breasts with a jeweled clasp and was lined around the bottom with a row of glittery beads. Paris' sun-streaked blond hair was tousled seductively and her lips had been painted into a wine-colored pout. She did the obligatory model's turn as Amy let out a low whistle.

"Well?" Paris urged, wanting her friend's opinion.

Amy laughed. "Orton isn't going to know what to do with himself. He's gonna be too busy tripping over his tongue."

"OK, let's do a quick check before we leave," Paris said. "Lip gloss, perfume, money, ID…what else?"

"Nothing," Amy replied. "Let's go!"

"Pretty anxious to have Dave fawn all over you, aren't we?"

"Der! Look who's talking, you little ho!"

"Very funny—if Randy even notices, I'll be the picture of grace."

Amy snorted. "Yeah, well, I hope you're wearing panties under that skirt, so you don't have a big wet spot when he's falling all over himself complimenting you, all the while his brain is thinking about how bad he wants to fuck you."

It took Paris a minute to get what Amy meant and then, she blushed furiously at her friend's no holds barred humor.

"God, Amy—that's gross!!"

"Let's go, Paris," Amy laughed musically as she flipped off the light and shut the door behind them.

Meanwhile, outside Evolution's hotel room, Paul Levesque and Dave Batista stood in the hallway, rolling their eyes impatiently as Randy Orton took one final glance in the mirror and smoothed his navy blue Armani shirt before dashing out the door to join his friends.

"Every hair in place, pretty boy?" Paul mocked as they headed towards the lobby where they would be meeting Paris and Amy.

"Fuck, look who's talking!" Randy shot back. "You spent more time in front of the mirror than I did."

"Hey, I have a bet to win, remember?" Paul stated.

"Yeah, well, Paris is my date tonight," Randy smirked. "So I guess you'll just have to wait your turn, Paul—that is if you even get a turn. I'll probably be sealing the deal tonight anyway."

Batista shook his head at Randy's attempted machismo. He knew that his friend was not yet in a secure enough place to let on to Paul that he really liked Paris, so he had to play up the bet for the sake of macho humor. Of course, if Paul thought Randy was winning, maybe he'd back off. Batista hoped that Randy didn't mistakenly believe this. If Paul thought he was losing, it would only compel him to try that much harder.

"Dream on," Paul laughed. "You're no closer to winning than I am."

"I beg to differ," Randy retorted. "I'm the one who has a date with her now, don't I?"

"Randy, I wish that you could just see that you're totally outclassed on this one," Paul said in a condescending tone.

"I wish you'd just go fuck yourself," Randy told him.

"You know what I wish?" Batista said, annoyed. "I wish you'd both shut the fuck up!"

"What crawled up your ass?" Paul asked the bigger man.

"Nothing. You two are just pissing me off, that's all. It's bad enough that you have this juvenile bet, but you have to fucking talk about it all the time. It gets old, OK?"

Randy nodded, not in the least offended by Batista's comments. He knew that it was just his friend's way of telling Paul to shut up and by including Randy in his comments, he didn't let on to Paul any of Randy's true intentions. He also quelled Paul's suspicions by making it sound as if his annoyance and impatience was aimed at both of them, not just Paul.

"You know what, man," Paul said, ingratiatingly. "I know you're trying to impress Amy Dumas—and that's cool. I respect that, man, so I won't mention the bet. I just hope Randy can be as mature and give you the same respect that I am."

Randy snorted. "I'll try and restrain myself," he replied, sarcastically, giving Batista a knowing look as Batista smirked admirably at Randy's insolence toward Paul.

As they entered the lobby, Randy's eyes scanned the room for any sign of the girls as Batista glanced absently at his Rolex watch. Paul made a quick phone call to make sure that the limo was stocked and ready to go. While they were waiting, Randy was momentarily distracted as Ric Flair approached him with some questions about next week's itinerary. Out of the corner of his eye, Randy saw Paris and Amy saunter into the lobby. His heart stopped as he watched Paris stroll towards him, looking absolutely gorgeous. His gaze flashed from her stunning face to her ample cleavage to the tanned leg peeking out of the split in her skirt. By the time she reached their group, Randy would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't completely aroused. It was all he could do to not be rude to Ric, but just as he was about to brush Ric off and drop some generous compliments on Paris, Paul beat him to the punch.

"Paris, Amy, you're both looking very beautiful tonight," Paul remarked as Paris did a playful model's turn for all of them and Amy smiled winningly as she took her place next to Batista.

"Thanks, Paul," Paris replied, glancing at Randy expectantly.

Randy stared back at her with an apologetic look on his face, all the while still trying his best to pay attention to Ric. Before he knew what was happening, Paul was ushering everyone out to the limousine. Randy could only stand by idly and watch his rival escort his date to the car.

"Orton, let's go," Batista called, holding the door for him.

"Sorry to be rude, Ric, but I gotta go," Randy yelled as he dashed out the door,

leaving the Nature Boy standing in the lobby with a stunned look on his face.

Once inside the safety of the limo, Paul instructed the driver to take the scenic route to Hourglass. He told the girls that the club was about half an hour away, so they might as well sit back and enjoy the ride along the beach. Paris and Amy began to relax as Paul opened a bottle of champagne and passed around full glasses for everyone.

Randy, on the other hand, was still irritated that Ric had ruined Paris' entrance for him. Gazing down at her as she sat between him and Paul, he had wanted nothing more than to take in every inch of her as she walked towards him. Luckily, she was so busy chatting with Paul now that Randy was able to check out everything he had missed earlier.

But apparently Randy wasn't the only one feeling slightly out of sorts. As he took a better look at Amy, Randy could understand why Batista had been staring with glazed-over eyes. Randy was used to seeing the woman known as Lita in cargo pants, crop tops, and mesh shirts, but tonight, it was different. She was still Lita, only kicked up a few notches. She had obviously dressed to make an impression and although Randy and Paul were both impressed by her beauty, they weren't the ones that she was hoping would notice.

Of course, Amy's appearance was having quite the effect on Batista and as the champagne and the conversation began to flow more freely, he wasted no time casually draping his huge arm over Amy's shoulder. She didn't seem to mind as she snuggled up next to him, her head resting against his chest. Batista wished that Randy, Paris, and Paul had been anywhere but in that limo. He wanted nothing more than to tangle his hands in Amy's fiery red hair, to rain kisses all over her body, to touch her skin, which reminded him of candlelit silk. For the moment, he settled for absently caressing soft tendrils of hair as they spilled over her bare shoulders.

"How's the triceps?" Amy asked, jolting him back to reality.

"Stronger every day," Batista replied. "How's the neck?" He gently massaged her shoulder.

"Never been better. I can't wait to be back."

"When's the date?"

"Next week, I think. How bout you?"

"Some time in October. I'm ready now, but they're working it into the Goldberg angle."

There was what seemed like a long silence before Amy spoke again.

"I broke up with Matt," she said, quietly.

Batista wasn't sure he heard her right. "What?"

"It's over—me and Matt."

"Is that a good thing?" he asked.

"I'm beginning to think it is."

Batista searched her eyes. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to take this slow. I want it to be OK for us to be friends first. Is that cool? Be honest, OK?"

"I'm OK with being friends," he said. "As long as there's potential for more."

"Oh, there'll be more—I can guarantee that. Besides, I'm OK with being friends with benefits."

"Benefits, huh?" Batista replied, smiling. "What kind of benefits?"

"You're not quite eligible for benefits yet," she teased. "You haven't been on the job long enough."

"Oh really? Well, I guess I'll have to work extra hard then, won't I?" With that, he gave her a soft but chaste kiss on the lips.

"No fair," Amy pouted.

"Hey, I'm just sampling what kind of benefits are available."

Randy watched with amusement as his friend—the monster of Evolution—canoodled with the redheaded Queen of Extreme. As much as he was enjoying the show they were putting on, his mind was never off of Paris for very long. Although she had been talking to Paul for most of the trip, Paris made sure that Randy's thoughts were never too far from her by shooting him seductive looks out of the corner of her eye. She didn't even flinch when he placed his hand on her bare knee. She just absently caressed the back of his hand with her fingertips, much to Paul's consternation. Both Randy and Paris noticed that Paul was somewhat perturbed by the fact that even though he had Paris' attention, he didn't have her undivided attention. Randy knew exactly why this bothered Paul, but Paris just thought it was innocent, male competition. Paul was apparently interested in her and he was jealous that Randy was, too. As charming as Paul was, Paris was really wishing that Randy would talk to her. So far, he hadn't uttered one word, but she figured he was just acting jealous because she was visiting with Paul. Suddenly, Paul's cell phone rang and Paris saw the opening she was looking for.

"Hi," she said quietly, leaning toward Randy.

Randy smiled, bending his head to whisper in her ear. "I know someone's already told you this, but you look really hot tonight."

"I didn't think you noticed," Paris replied, pouting.

"Oh, I noticed," Randy said as his lips brushed her neck, causing her to shiver slightly.

"Do that again," Paris whispered as she glanced at Amy and Dave, who were busy with each other, and Paul, who was still on the phone.

"I don't know," Randy sighed, pretending to be hurt. "You've been ignoring me all night long, talking to Paul. My ego's kind of bruised. I just don't know if I'm up to it now."

"What are you up for?" Paris teased, her fingertips tracing a circle on his arm.

Randy shrugged, feigning nonchalance. In reality, his skin was practically on fire wherever she touched him and his mind raced to come up with a witty rebuttal. He chuckled, an evil grin spreading across his handsome face.

"If I told you that, I'd probably get slapped in the face."

"That explicit, huh?" she bantered. "Now I'm intrigued."

Randy laughed softly, admiring her impudence. "Tell me, Paris—are you a good girl or a bad girl?"

Paris giggled. "Oh, I'm definitely a good girl, Randy."

"Oh," Randy replied, acting as if he were disappointed. "I see."

"Good at being bad," Paris quipped as she pinched his chest playfully.

"Hey, be careful there," Randy scolded jokingly, his face a mask of mock indignation at her boldness. "Watch where you're pinching, missy—I happen to have very sensitive nipples."

"What!" Batista shouted, looking incredulous. "What did you say?" Apparently, the word 'nipple' had sparked his attention.

"She was tweaking my nipple and I told her they were sensitive, OK?"

"I don't really want to hear about your sensitive nipples, dude," Batista retorted.

"Neither do I," Paul added dryly, putting away his cell phone.

"Well, as I recall, I don't believe I was talking to you, Dave," Randy stated, sarcastically. "But then again, I figured you were too busy playing tonsil hockey with Amy to hear anything I said anyway."

"Very funny, Randy," Amy responded. "I must have missed the part where you turned into Jerry Lawler."

"We weren't playing tonsil hockey," Batista insisted.

"Yeah, right," Paul said, chuckling. "What? Do you think we're all blind?"

"Or stupid?" Randy put in as Paris suppressed a chuckle and Amy blushed beet red.

"Just shut up!" Batista told them, obviously flustered. "You're all being a bunch of ass clowns anyway!"

Randy, Paul, and Paris all started laughing at the couple's apparent discomfort over having their bond with each other discovered. However, there was no time for Batista or Amy to come up with a sharp retort because the limo had just stopped in front of Hourglass. The driver held the door for Paul, who exited first, and then, helped Paris and Amy out of the car. Several people waiting in line recognized Paul and Amy and began yelling 'Triple H' and 'Lita' at the top of their lungs. As Randy and Batista stepped out of the vehicle, several women began screaming and Paris could have sworn she saw one girl swoon when Randy walked by her to enter the club. Of course, Randy had his arm firmly and possessively around Paris' waist, so it was obvious to any bystander that they were together. Randy maneuvered Paris around Amy, who had stopped to sign some autographs as Batista waited patiently and chatted with some fans.

"Aren't you going to sign autographs?" Paris asked pointedly, remembering her past week with Jericho and how Chris always seemed to find time to stop and chat with his fans. She also remembered Trish telling her once that it took an act of God to get Evolution to do anything nice for their fans.

"Normally, I would," Randy stated. "I just don't like to at clubs and stuff because there's always someone who's drunk and gets obnoxious. You give an inch and they want a mile."

Paris nodded, understanding, but she was a little bit bothered that Randy was so young, yet he sometimes exhibited Paul's jaded attitude. He appreciated his fans, but only on his terms. Of course, that was his right as a celebrity. There had been times in Vegas that Paris wished the paparazzi would leave her alone and no doubt she had been rude on more than one occasion. But she had to wonder, was that the real Evolution and the real Randy, or just a façade that Paul wanted them to maintain?

As the doors to Hourglass opened for them, Paris knew that only time would tell. She could only hope that the sweet, sensitive side of Randy that she had seen was the real him. She could only hope that the rumors weren't true and that the darkness she often saw in Paul's eyes wasn't reflective of the rest of Evolution. It wasn't just her heart at stake, but Amy's as well. Broken hearts often took an eternity to mend.

Please review. Sorry for the lack of updates. The next chapter will be coming out soon—it's all written, I just have to type it. Enjoy!

**--------Evilution**


	14. Tootsie Pop

Chapter 14 – Tootsie Pop

By Evilution

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the WWE, except Paris and Amanda. Paris' family is based on characters from the movie, Ocean's Eleven. I do not own any businesses or places mentioned, except Hourglass. I wish I owned a place like that. Enjoy!!

Warning: This chapter gets a little explicit.

The inside of Hourglass was an opulent display of neon and modern art design. It reminded Paris of some of the flashier casinos on the Vegas Strip, minus the gambling. In fact, much of the ambience resembled tentative plans Danny was making for a new casino called Babylon. Trying not to get crushed by the crowd, Paris kept her eyes on Dave's massive shoulders as she followed him and Amy to the back of the club where the entrance to the outdoor bar and dance floor were. She was reassured by Randy's hand on the small of her back. Finally, they were outside and as they approached the bar, Paul was interrupted once again by the insistent ring of his cell phone. As Paul excused himself to take the call, a young bartender whose nametag read 'Shad' greeted the others.

"What can I get for you?" he asked with a smile.

Dave put a hundred on the bar and ordered three Coronas with lime for himself, Paul, and Randy. "What would you ladies like?" he prompted.

"I'll have a margarita, rocks, no salt," Amy requested.

Shad nodded as Dave turned to Paris. "Paris?"

"Hmm…what sounds good?" Paris mused, studying the rows of brightly colored bottles. "I think I'll have a banana pina colada."

"I'm gonna need to see some ID on you two," Shad said, indicating Paris and Randy.

Randy rolled his eyes, somewhat annoyed, as he reached for his wallet. Paris removed her ID from her purse and handed it to Shad.

Shad perused both IDs before handing Randy's back. However, he continued to scrutinize Paris' drivers license, glancing up at her periodically.

"Is there a problem?" Randy questioned, impatiently.

Shad shrugged. "I'm just not sure if she's old enough," he replied, remaining friendly, but firm.

"Well," Randy told him, as Dave and Amy sighed loudly. "Her ID says she's 21 and I happen to know that Andrew Jackson here thinks she's 21, too." Randy laid a twenty-dollar tip on the bar. "So what are we gonna do about that?"

Shad glanced between Randy and the C-note several times before returning Paris' ID. Obviously if her boyfriend was willing to bribe him so quickly, then that told the bartender that Paris definitely wasn't old enough, but Shad wasn't an idiot. He had recognized the entire group, except for Paris, and not only that; he had seen them walk in with Triple H. This was Evolution he was dealing with and he knew it would be in his best interests to keep them happy.

A few minutes later, Shad returned with their drinks and after he had collected payment out of Dave's hundred, he very discreetly slipped Randy's twenty into his pocket. He knew that the hot blond wasn't old enough, but what could it hurt? After all, he put very little alcohol in his pina coladas and she had ordered banana to boot, which didn't even have any rum in it. More than likely, she had arrived in a limo, so she wouldn't be driving, and if by some freak chance they got busted, he had carded her and her ID said she was 21. It was her ass if it turned out to be a fake.

As they were making their way to a table, Paul approached them, looking apologetic. Apparently, his phone call was requiring him to leave their company for a period of time.

"Hey, guys," Paul said, putting his hand on Randy's shoulder. "I have to head back to the hotel—Vince just arrived, and he and Shane need to see me."

"What?" Randy exclaimed. "We just got our drinks."

"You guys stay," Paul went on. "I'll take a cab and leave the limo for you guys—I don't know how long I'll be."

On the surface, Randy and Dave appeared disappointed that Paul was not able to join them, but underneath it all, they were relieved. Dave always felt like it was a competition when Paul was with them, especially now with this sophomoric wager between Randy and Paul. Randy's pleasure with the situation was a little more obvious. If Paul wasn't there, he wouldn't have to vie for Paris' attention—he had her all to himself. That and the fact that he and Dave could be at ease and more like themselves when Paul wasn't around.

No sooner had Paul left than Randy was distracted from his conversation with Paris by Paris and Amy waving at someone across the club. Randy looked over his shoulder to see Chris Irvine, Trish Stratus, Jay Reso, and Lisa Varon making their way over to the table. Paris glanced around nervously, knowing that Chris and Jay weren't exactly on a friendly basis with Evolution.

"Hey, gang, what's shakin?" Chris asked as he walked up and put his hand out to Randy.

Randy accepted Chris' hand and shook it, as did Dave with Jay. Paris stared in surprise as greetings were exchanged and an invitation to join them was extended by Randy. Jay held Lisa's chair as she took a seat next to Amy and Jay sat down next to his date. Chris held the chair next to Paris for Trish before seating himself. Paris shook he head in disbelief.

"Wait a second," she exclaimed. "I thought you guys didn't like each other."

The men at the table chuckled heartily before Chris began to explain.

"It's not that I don't like Randy and Dave or vice versa," Chris stated. "The problem is Paul."

"I don't understand," Paris said.

"Well, the thing is," Chris went on. "Paul doesn't like most of us in the locker room, namely me, Jeff, Shawn—you get the picture, and we don't particularly like him either. Now, he's not so stupid that he doesn't realize that Randy and Dave talk to us and get along with us, but he prefers that Evolution sticks with Evolution."

"So as long as we appear at odds or just indifferent to each other in the public eye, then Paul's happy," Dave replied. "He knows we don't hate everyone that he has a problem with. Like Chris said, he's not stupid."

"So it's OK that we all hang out?" Paris inquired.

"It's more than OK," Jay said.

"In fact, even if Paul was here, he probably wouldn't say anything," Randy remarked. "He'd be annoyed and would probably avoid us, but he's not an idiot. He knows how it is."

Paris seemed to relax upon learning that both groups of her friends were also friends. Now that Paul was gone, everyone was free to enjoy the evening without worrying about what he would think. Randy, Dave, Chris, and Jay made sure that there was always a round of drinks on the table and that the girls never had to open their purses, except for lip gloss. In between dances with Randy and the other guys, Paris had a chance to get to know Randy even better. He told her about his father, Cowboy Bob Orton, and how he got to spend a lot of time in the locker room when he was a kid because his dad was a wrestler. He also told her about being in the Marine Corps and how he had spent some time in a military prison for going AWOL. Paris empathized with him, knowing the stories Danny had told her about the times he had been incarcerated. Paris didn't blame Randy—he had gone AWOL to attend his grandmother's funeral. This made Paris admire him even more. In fact, Paris' obvious attraction to Randy Orton was becoming more evident. She kept telling herself to slow down and be careful—after all, this was the same guy who had been an arrogant jerk the first night she had met him. But now, he was so sweet and so handsome. Paris knew that she could easily see herself falling in love with this guy.

Before the conversation could get too serious, Randy took Paris by the hand and led her to the dance floor, trying to catch the last few bars of a slow song, but they were too late. The DJ put on some 50 Cent and like the other couples around them, Paris and Randy began bumping and grinding to the beat, their bodies melding together in time to the music. Paris turned her back to Randy, pressing against his chest as he circled his hands around her bare waist. Randy traced his lips across the back of her neck, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair as it tickled his nose and cheeks. Paris threw her head back, resting it on his muscular shoulder as his lips softly caressed her neck and his hands gently but boldly cupped her breasts. Paris sighed as she spun around to face her handsome dance partner. Without skipping a beat, Randy dipped his head and locked his lips with Paris' in what could only be described as the most explosive kiss she had ever experienced. His tongue stroked hers, gently at first and then, more urgent and demanding, as his hands tangled in her unruly blond hair. Paris could have spent the entire remainder of the evening kissing Randy on the dance floor, but something distracted her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a familiar figure by the bar. He was wearing jeans and a black tank top, his dark blond hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. His ever-present companions, Bubba Ray and Dvon Dudley, flanked him on either side. His eyes were hidden by a small pair of black sunglasses, reminiscent of Neo from The Matrix, but Paris could still feel Rob Van Dam's eyes boring into her like laser beams. His mouth twisted into a smirk, deepening the dimple in his left cheek. Normally, Paris found dimples cute or sexy, but on Rob Van Dam, it looked positively diabolical.

Feeling somewhat flustered, Paris broke the heated kiss, but since the song had also ended, Randy didn't find her behavior unusual. Nor did he see Rob's gaze lingering on Paris as Randy led her back to the table. In fact, nobody in their party had even noticed Rob's presence—nobody except Amy.

"Would you guys excuse me for a minute?" Paris requested, rising from the chair she had just sat in, as Chris, Dave, and Jay all stood up in chivalrous fashion. "I need to visit the little girls room." Violet eyes met hazel-green ones, Paris silently pleading with Amy to join her.

"I'll go with you," Amy stated, picking up the hint. "You know we always have to go in pairs," she told the guys.

Amy took Paris by the hand and led the way inside, weaving through the crowded club until they reached the rest room.

"What the fuck does he think he's doing, standing there gawking at you?" Amy exploded as Paris locked herself in a stall. Although she was far from intoxicated, the alcohol she had previously consumed threatened to work its way back up.

"I don't know," Paris replied. "Did you see him smirking at me? I know he's going to tell Randy about New Orleans—I'm sure if that bitch, Sarah, knows about it, everyone will."

"OK, OK—damage control! Just tell Randy you were drunk and he took advantage of you, which is partly true anyway."

"Then, Randy's gonna go kick his ass!"

"And this would be a bad thing because…"

"Well, first of all, he'd get in trouble. Second, Rob's never alone—those Dudley dipshits are always with him. And third, I don't want Randy to have to protect me every time some asshole looks at me cross-eyed."

"Fucking Van Dam—this is so typical of him. God, Paris, what the hell was I thinking all those years ago?"

"Probably the same thing I was thinking a few nights ago," Paris said as she exited the stall and began washing her hands.

"I just can't believe I fell for him. Shows you how fucked up and confused I was back in the ECW days."

"And then, you fell for Matt. I think Rob and Matt are two peas in a pod."

"Matt never used to be like that," Amy replied, sadly.

"Hey, Amy, it's no big deal. You think I haven't dated my share of losers? I think we all have. Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs to find a prince."

"I just hope Dave's different."

Paris smiled. "Dave has to be a prince—frogs don't have that many muscles."

Amy laughed as she linked arms with Paris and the girls left the quiet of the restroom for the never-ending din of the frenetic club. They were so engrossed in conversation that they failed to observe three figures closing in on them. Paris shrieked in surprise as Rob and Bubba maneuvered her and Amy into a darkened, somewhat deserted corridor at the back of the bar. Dvon brought up the rear and seemed to be playing lookout.

"Well, well, well," Rob drawled as he ushered Paris along, his grip on her arm tightening. "Having quite the evening, aren't we, ladies?"

"Ow!" Paris exclaimed, trying to squirm away.

"Let go, you asshole!" Amy shouted, attempting to disengage her arm from Bubba's grasp.

Rob smiled sarcastically. "You and that mouth, Ames. Why'd they ever name you Miss Congeniality?"

"I bet Paul E. could tell us why he named her Miss Congeniality," Bubba insinuated slyly.

"Fuck you!" Amy spat.

Rob chuckled, seemingly amused by Paris and Amy's apparent indignation over being trapped like rats. "I have to say that I'm not surprised that Paris is practically fucking Randy Orton on the dance floor, but what about you?"

"What about me?" Amy replied, her eyes narrowing.

"Don't you have a boyfriend, Amy?" Rob taunted. "Now, what would Matt Hardy say about your little display out there with The Missing Link?"

"Who gives a shit what he thinks?" Paris piped up. "She broke up with that asshole hours ago."

Rob seemed surprised at this revelation, but quickly recovered. "I don't recall asking for your two cents, Tootsie Pop."

Bubba laughed. Apparently, there was an inside joke regarding the name Rob had just called her.

"She has a name, dipshit!" Amy snapped.

"I could think of a few names I'd like to call her," Rob stated.

"You mean ones you haven't already called me?" Paris retorted.

"I think I'll stick with Tootsie Pop—it's catchy, don't you think?"

Paris rolled her eyes, exasperated. "OK, I give up—why in the hell are you calling me Tootsie Pop?"

Bubba continued to laugh as Amy glared at Rob and Dvon had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable with his friends' sense of humor. Rob chuckled softly, leaning close to Paris. He fingered a stray wisp of her blond hair, inhaling its scent as he ran his nose along her cheek and jaw line. Paris suppressed the urge to recoil at his touch, but being backed against the wall, there was really no place for her to go. Slapping the shit out of him also wasn't an option as she and Amy were outnumbered.

"How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" Rob murmured in her ear, eliciting even more guffaws from Bubba. Obviously, the man didn't get out much.

"You're a disgusting pig, Van Dam!" Paris shouted as she tried to shove him away from her.

"That's so funny, Rob!" Amy mocked. "Go back to junior high!"

"Why don't you shut up and stay out of it?" Bubba interjected.

"Why don't you kiss my ass?" Amy shot back.

"Bend over, baby!" Bubba challenged.

"Knock it off!" Rob interrupted. "This is between me and Paris. Why don't we step into this private alcove over here and…umm…finish things?"

Paris tried to dart away, but Rob grabbed her and pressing his muscled body against her, he managed to maneuver her into the alcove as Bubba pulled Amy out of the way and thus, prevented her from interfering. Once inside the alcove, Paris tried to yell, but Rob's lips came sown harshly on hers as he deftly wedged his knee between her legs. Paris' arms flailed wildly, trying to fight him, but he effortlessly grasped her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand as his other hand roamed her body and his lips continued their demanding assault. Paris knew that she couldn't overpower him and her mind raced as she struggled to find a way out of this predicament. She could hear Amy arguing with Bubba and Dvon and she only hoped that maybe Randy or Chris or even Trish might come looking for them.

Suddenly, she had an idea and it was all thanks to an earlier remark Rob had made. He had mentioned Amy's old ECW character, Miss Congeniality. This reminded Paris of the Sandra Bullock movie of the same name. When Gracie Lou had to improvise her talent at the pageant and she did self-defense moves on Eric, she showed the four vulnerable places on a man—all you have to do is SING—which stands for Solar plexus, Instep, Nose, and Groin. Paris knew that the solar plexus and nose routes were out because her hands were pinned, but maybe…just maybe, if she could stomp on Rob's toe, she could get him to double over and then, knee him in the family jewels.

Putting her plan into motion, Paris relaxed and began responding feverishly yet insincerely to Rob's kisses. Rob picked up on the change and slowly released her wrists, so that he could use both hands to push her skirt up higher. Paris waited for precisely the right moment and then, slammed her high heel into Rob's foot. Unfortunately, she hadn't counted on him wearing steel-toed boots. Rob's eyes narrowed, her obvious betrayal dawning on him. Without thinking, Paris jerked her knee upward in an attempt to connect with his groin, but she wasn't quick enough and he was able to block it expertly. Running on adrenaline, Paris then resorted to the obvious and slapped him soundly across the face. The shock was enough to buy her a few seconds to slip out of Rob's grasp. She turned and rushed towards Amy, who was still having heated words with the Dudleys, as Rob turned out of the alcove, hot on her heels. He brutally grasped her arm, his anger evident. Paris' icy violet orbs locked with his shaded eyes as she struggled to break his grip.

"Bitch! You ever slap me again, it'll be the last thing you do!"

"Let go of me, you asshole, or…"

"Or what? You'll have Randy kick my ass?"

"No, I'll kick your ass!" a deep and familiar voice snarled from behind Amy and the Dudleys.

"Paul!" Paris gasped as the hulking frame of Triple H came into view.

"Thank God!" Amy exclaimed as she pushed Bubba away and rushed to stand behind Paul. As Bubba and Dvon moved backwards to flank Rob, Amy realized that she had probably never been this glad to see Triple H before. She was almost certain Paris would echo those sentiments.

Rob immediately released Paris and his face broke into a sardonic smirk. "Trips, just in time to play knight in shining armor, aren't you?"

Paul casually held out his hand and pulled Paris away from Rob, his huge arm encircling her tiny waist. "Obviously, you and your pals here are bothering these ladies or they wouldn't be so glad to see me."

"For your information, these 'ladies,' and I use that term very loosely, approached us," Rob lied.

"That's a lie!" Paris shouted as Amy echoed the word 'Bullshit!' simultaneously.

"Look, Van Dam," Paul began. "Don't you have some place you need to be or someone else to be annoying? If you guys are bored, I hear there's a gay bar a few miles down the coast."

"Who are you calling gay?" Bubba demanded.

"I'm looking at him," Paul retorted, locking eyes with Rob. "I mean, seriously, Van Dam—you might want to give it some thought…you know, switching to guys. I mean if you can't even get a woman turned on enough to call you by the right name, then you have some serious problems, pal."

Paris gasped, baffled as to how Paul knew about her interlude with Rob and anxious about whether he had said anything to Randy. Paul sensed that she was taken aback. He glanced briefly at her out of the corner of his eye, but remained focused on Van Dam.

Rob glared at Paris and then, laughed softly and menacingly. He wasn't one to let a taunt go unanswered, especially by Triple H.

"I guess you'd know all about that, Trips," Rob sneered. "I'm sure you've been called HBK on more than one occasion."

Paris blanched at such a blatant insult, knowing full well that Rob was referring to Stephanie. Paul's jaw muscle twitched violently, but he remained calm and cool.

"Besides," Rob went on. "If I were going to turn gay, I'd have to go and join Evolution."

Paul chuckled insincerely, his voice becoming even more reminiscent of his alter ego, Triple H. "Speaking of Evolution, I believe these ladies are here with Orton and Batista. That means that if you fuck with these girls, you're fucking with Evolution. And when you fuck with Evolution, you're fucking with me. I think you should know by now not to fuck with me, Van Dam. You might find yourself buried even deeper at the bottom of the pile in terms of a career push if you know what I mean."

"Oh, you think you're such a bad ass, wielding your political power, Trips. Pardon my lack of respect for your imagined authority."

"I think I've made my point," Paul replied simply.

"Hey, it's Paris who can't stay away from me."

"That would explain why she's here with Randy," Amy countered. "Jealous much, Rob?"

Rob snorted. "Like I'm jealous of that punk. I've already been to Paris and back if you know what I mean."

"Fuck you!" Paris spat.

"Look, I don't give a shit where you think you've been," Paul warned, his voice icy and dangerous. "These girls are off limits—that means stay the fuck away from them."

Rob shrugged, deciding that rather than fighting Triple H, he'd take the high road…but not without a final jab.

"Hey, take it easy, Trips—no need to have a meltdown or anything. Maybe you should think about branding your cattle next time so us ignorant peasants know not to touch your property."

"Are you calling me a cow, you fucker?" Amy squealed.

"I guess if the cowbell fits," Rob replied casually.

"Hey, apparently, I didn't make myself clear, jackass," Paul shouted as he stepped forward in a challenging manner.

Rob put his hands up in mock concession. 'Hey, Trips—everything's crystal clear. It's all good, man. Take it easy, Ames, and I'll see you around, Tootsie Pop." With that, he grinned mockingly at Paris before heading out the back exit, followed closely by Bubba and Dvon.

Paris breathed a sigh of relief that he was finally gone as Amy thanked Paul profusely for his intervention. Before Paris could say anything, Amy rushed off to find Randy and Dave while Paul turned to her, concern mirrored on his handsome face.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Paris practically whispered.

"I should probably get you back to Randy." He took her hand and turned to lead her back through the club.

"Paul, wait—how did you know about…?"

"About you and Van Dam?" He laughed softly. "Not everyone's as naïve as you are, Paris. Besides, I'm Triple H—you think I don't have my own network of informants backstage?"

Paris blushed, embarrassed by not only her lack of sophistication and savvy, but also the fact that Paul knew about her indiscretions with Rob.

"You won't say anything, will you?"

"I won't have to—Van Dam will make sure all the right people know."

"You mean Randy?"

"You catch on quick, Paris," Paul replied casually, noticing how upset she was. She was wringing her hands, a look of distress marring her pretty features.

"Look, Paris," he began. "I…"

But he never got to finish his sentence. He was interrupted as Randy rushed up to them, his eyes immediately finding Paris.

"Hey, I just heard what happened with Van Dam," Randy stated, concern flooding his face. "Are you OK?"

Paris smiled weakly, unable to hide her joy at Randy being by her side. "I'm fine," she said as Randy circled his strong arms around her, enveloping her in a reassuring hug.

He briefly worried that Paul would notice how upset he was and see through his façade. The last thing he wanted was for Paul to know how he really felt about Paris, but at the time, his only thought was for her safety. Hopefully, Paul would think that he was just being overly solicitous to further his cause where the bet was concerned.

"She's just a little shook up," Paul said, his dark eyes locking with Randy's over Paris' head.

Paul could see a mixture of worry for Paris and anger at Van Dam clouding the blue orbs of his young teammate. The fact that Randy was inwardly seething at Van Dam's audacity was further manifested by a violent twitch in his chiseled jaw that he tried to mask as he attempted to soothe Paris' bruised ego.

As Paul studied the situation, a realization dawned on him. Either Randy was one hell of an actor and had Paris totally snowed with his phony acts of chivalry or his young partner had genuine feelings of affection for the girl. If the latter was the case, then up to this point, Randy had done quite a good job of making Paul think otherwise, with his arrogant taunts and macho bragging. But Randy wasn't stupid. He knew that Paul's only interest in Paris revolved around the bet. If Randy had developed feelings for Paris somewhere along the way, he definitely wouldn't want Paul to find out about them. Surveying the scene closely, Paul didn't know whether to be angry with Randy for lying or admire him for being so smooth. Either way, things had just gotten very interesting. This is going to be even more fun than I thought, Paul told himself, smirking evilly.

"So what—he just accosted you right here?" Randy exclaimed, his voice incredulous. He had to be careful so that Paul didn't catch on, but the jealous rage he was trying so hard to conceal was threatening to erupt.

"More or less," Paris confirmed.

"God, what the fuck is his problem?" Randy exploded. "I mean is he just begging to get his ass kicked?" Chill out, Randy, a little voice whispered. Paul's watching—don't show him your hand.

Paris put her hands gently on Randy's chest, trying to calm the anger that was pouring out of him. "Randy, look, don't freak out. Like I said before, he's just an ass, OK?"

"Do you want me to kick the shit out of him?" Randy went on. "Seriously, Paris—just say the words." He hoped Paul would see his bravado as an attempt to score points with Paris.

"I don't want anyone getting the shit kicked out of them. Besides, Paul took care of it—I don't think he'll be bothering me again."

"Don't bet on it," Paul interjected. "My threats never mean much to Rob."

"What the hell is going on between you two that he's acting like this?" Randy demanded, jealousy getting the better of him once again.

"Randy, there's nothing going on between me and Rob," Paris insisted. "We have a little bit of history—that's all, and I promise I'll tell you about it sometime—just not tonight, OK? Can we please not talk about Rob anymore tonight?"

Randy's jaw continued to twitch erratically, but he managed to put his anger aside for Paris' sake as well as his own. He could see that Paul was watching the whole interaction intently and the less Paul knew, the better off both he and Paris would be. He hoped that Paul hadn't caught on to his display of emotion, that he would brush it off as Randy furthering his own interests and the interests of Evolution in general. However, he wasn't willing to completely concede.

"OK, I'll let it go for now," he agreed. "But I want to continue this discussion at a later date."

"We will, I promise."

Randy gave Paris' shoulders a casual squeeze of reassurance as Amy, Dave, Chris, Trish, Jay, and Lisa approached them through the crowd. Randy desperately tried to get himself under control, but his irritation was evident. Not only was Paul standing there watching, observing, waiting for a weakness, but also he had been there at Paris' moment of distress when Randy hadn't. He was completely and utterly miffed that Paul got to step in and play the hero, phony as everyone knew it was, when it should have been him defending his date.

"Sorry I wasn't there," Randy whispered as the others began to mill around.

"It's OK," Paris said, sincerely. She got the impression that Randy was more than just disappointed that Paul was the one who saved the day.

"So what are we doing?" Dave questioned. "Are we staying here or what?"

"I know it's pretty boring here, but it's the only place close," Paul put in.

"We could always go back to the hotel and bribe the night staff to let us use the pool," Randy suggested, putting his annoyance aside.

"Ooh, that could be fun," Paris added.

"It could be," Randy murmured suggestively as the group discussed the idea.

"So that's the plan," Paul stated with finality. "You joining us, Irvine? Reso?"

"Are we invited?" Chris retorted, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, you're invited," Paul replied, prompting an exchange of glances between Dave, Randy, and Amy. Apparently, Chris wasn't the only one who was intrigued by Paul's graciousness.

"Of course, let me see…1, 2, 3…" Paul continued as he did a jokingly sarcastic headcount of everyone. "I knew it—I'm the fifth wheel as usual."

"Oh, I'm sure you and Chris will get into some political debate and I'll end up being the fifth wheel," Trish lamented.

Paul chuckled as he winked at Trish. "You could never be a fifth wheel, Trish. So, hey, how'd you guys get here?" he went on, turning his attention to Chris and Jay. "You got a car, limo—what?"

"We took a cab," Jay said. "We didn't want to drive our rental here and the hotel said someone from the WWE got the last limo."

"That would be us," Dave said.

"Why don't you guys just ride with us?" Paul suggested, casting a furtive glance at Paris, making sure she noticed his act of courtesy.

After some last minute discussion, the group headed outside and piled into the limo. As everyone settled back for the thirty minute ride to the hotel, Paris began to relax, pushing the unpleasant events with Rob out of her mind. Randy sensed that some of her tension was subsiding as he casually draped his arm around her shoulders. For the most part, the trip was uneventful. Amy, Trish, and Lisa were deep in discussion about the woes of PMS. While Dave attempted to be polite to the girls, giving them the obligatory head nod and stroking his goatee thoughtfully, it was obvious to anyone observing the scene that he was totally clueless. Paul, Chris, and Jay were engaged in a friendly debate over when and where Bret Hart was going to make his long-awaited comeback. Paris and Randy were relatively quiet, listening to bits of conversation round them and simply enjoying being with each other.

When they arrived at the hotel, Paul and Dave sought out the night manager, who just happened to be a WWE fan. After handshakes and promises of front row tickets and autographed pictures were exchanged, Paul and Dave returned, informing the group that the pool party was on, as long as they agreed to keep the noise level down and not make a mess.

At that point, everyone fanned out to their own hotel rooms to change into bathing suits and gather whatever refreshments they desired. Much to Paris' chagrin, she had forgotten to pack a swimsuit. She couldn't believe that she had lugged half of her wardrobe across the country and didn't have the foresight to pack her favorite bikini. Luckily, Trish was the type of girl who always carried a spare.

Trish waited for Paris to change and then, the girls made their way down to the pool where Amy and Lisa were challenging Dave and Jay to a game of volleyball. Just as Trish had predicted, Chris and Paul were at one of the poolside tables, engrossed in conversation. Sighing, Trish decided to join the volleyball game, giving Amy and Lisa an extra player and possibly, an advantage over their much larger opponents. Paris spotted Randy sitting on the edge of the pool, his long legs dangling in the water.

"Hi," she said, quietly approaching him.

"Hey," Randy replied, his blue eyes eagerly taking in every inch of Paris' bikini-clad body as he attempted to remain cool and casual.

Paris sat down and slowly lowered her tanned legs into the pool. "Ooh, it's warm," she remarked, a little cautious yet extremely flattered by Randy's blatant and appreciative ogling.

"You really look hot in that bikini," Randy commented as he tried to focus on her eyes, but his gaze kept drifting elsewhere.

Paris laughed airily at his obvious lack of subtlety. "Thanks, it's Trish's. Of all things, I forgot to bring a swimsuit."

"Maybe I can take you shopping for one tomorrow."

"You? Take me shopping?"

"Sure," Randy smirked, his eyes boldly raking her. "Anything to see you model swimsuits."

Paris chuckled, shaking her head. Every time she thought that Randy was stepping out of his character, he'd come back with one of his trademark Ortonisms. Just when she thought she had him figured out, that she was seeing the real Randy Orton—sweet, romantic, utterly irresistible—his underlying arrogance and narcissism would suddenly appear. It wasn't just that he was irresistible, but the fact that he knew it. He knew that women in general, Paris in particular, wanted him and it was something he reveled in. Paris had to wonder, was this side of him actually the real Randy Orton—arrogant, egotistical, completely enamored with himself, the heir apparent of Evolution? And why did that prospect seem so appealing?

"I think you need to cool off," Paris grinned, splashing a handful of water in his direction.

Randy blinked as the cool droplets showered his face and chest. Inwardly, he laughed at her impudence—one more thing about her that turned him on.

"Oh, so you wanna play?" Randy challenged, grabbing her. "You want some of this, baby?"

"Randy, no!" Paris shrieked, but before she could stop him, he had pushed her headlong into the deep end of the pool and jumped in after her.

Paris ascended the surface, sputtering and wiping her eyes as Randy laughed heartily at her predicament.

"You ass!" she joked, splashing more water at him. "I swear you're gonna pay!"

With that, she launched herself towards him, trying to dunk his head under the water, but Randy was entirely too strong for her. With little effort, he slipped away from her and dove beneath the surface, where he grabbed Paris' feet and proceeded to pull her underwater. Paris resurfaced, coughing up water and muttering a string of oaths that would have made Steve Austin proud. Once again, she pounced on him and before either one of them knew what was happening, they were twisting and turning, the pool suddenly transformed into a wrestling ring. Paris finally managed to dunk Randy, only to have him swim between her legs and lift her onto his shoulders before dropping her backwards with a huge splash. In the end, Paris was on the verge of a victory, but Randy countered and engulfed her in an underwater bear hug. Floating to the surface, the cool air hit their skin as their lips stopped just inches from each other.

Laughing, Paris tried to catch her breath, but Randy suddenly captured her lips in a demanding kiss. Paris responded with equal ardor, twining her arms around his neck and boldly wrapping her legs around his waist. Randy felt his chest tighten, his heartbeat accelerating, his arousal obvious as every place on their bodies touched each other. Taking the initiative and ignoring taunts of 'Get a room' from the direction of the volleyball game, Randy maneuvered Paris around a darkened curve of the pool where the water was much shallower and a few degrees cooler. Resting his back against the side of the pool, Randy continued his assault on her lips as he pulled her body against his, his arms locking fiercely around her waist. Paris relaxed her legs, not wanting Randy to think she was too aggressive, and let her feet touch the bottom of the pool. Her body remained pressed against his as he released her lips, but continued to place soft, hot kisses on her face, along her jaw line, and down to the sensitive hollow of her throat, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. Randy buried his face in Paris' neck; her damp hair tickling his cheek as he gently nipped her skin, imprinting it ever so slightly with marks of his passion. Paris moaned, throwing her head back as she gripped Randy's tattooed shoulders and raked her fingers along his muscular arms, her nails leaving tiny marks of their own on his tanned skin. Randy growled in the back of his throat as he tensed slightly, her touch causing him a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Sorry," Paris whispered, loosening her grip as his blue eyes met hers.

"It's OK," Randy replied, quietly. "I liked it."

Before she could respond, he was kissing her again, his tongue seductively probing her mouth as his hands gripped her derriere and pressed her against him so she could feel how hard he was. Paris gasped as he released her lips and once again, turned his kisses to his favorite part of her neck while she trailed her fingertips down his arms and rested her hands on his waist. Based on her limited but obvious knowledge of men, Paris could tell that he was generously well endowed. Not that she expected any less—after all, he was Randy Orton. As she toyed with the waistband of his trunks, contemplating whether she should go any farther, she wondered how she was going to tell him that she was a virgin and how he was going to take it. Maybe she wouldn't tell him. It wasn't like he was likely to notice—Amanda had informed her that most guys were too preoccupied with getting off to know the difference. Plus she was worried about safety. She wasn't on any birth control and neither one of them had pockets to be carrying a condom. What if she told him and it was a turn off? Or what if she didn't tell him and it turned into a disaster? She would have been lying if she said she wasn't a little apprehensive about his size and her lack of experience. Paris could have dwelled on it all night, but she was jolted back to reality by the sensation of cool water hitting her breasts. Apparently, she had been so deep in thought, she hadn't felt Randy remove her bikini top. It was draped on the edge behind his head. She shivered, the cooler water causing her nipples to tighten. Randy sensed her tension and removing his face from her neck, gazed into her violet eyes.

"Everything OK?" he whispered.

"I…I'm fine," Paris said as she rested her hands on his shoulders once again. "I'm just a little cold, but you're doing a good job of warming me up."

Randy smiled sexily. "I can stop if you want."

"No, that's OK, but you never told me what else you like."

"What?"

"You said you liked it when I scratched you—what else do you like?" Her voice was low and seductive. Randy caught on immediately.

"Well, I like this," he said as he kissed her, his teeth gently nipping her lower lip.

"Mmm, I like that, too."

"And I like your tongue piercing—I bet it would feel good on other places of my body."

He kissed her again as his hands teasingly tickled her waist. He gazed deeply at her, his eyes clouded into a darker shade of blue as they smoldered with lust. Paris sighed as she felt his hands move up her sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs gently began rubbing her nipples, already overly sensitive from the cool water, teasing them into hardened peaks. Paris closed her eyes, feeling a warm sensation between her legs that she couldn't quite describe. Randy smiled with satisfaction as she arched her back, allowing him a full access view of her breasts. She gasped loudly as his fingers erotically teased and tugged at her nipple piercing. Pulling her roughly towards him, Randy continued to kiss her, his lips hard and demanding. He felt a rush of blood hammering in his temples and his stomach fluttered as Paris' hand delicately grazed his rock hard erection.

As Randy desperately tried to maintain some semblance of control and restrain his animal urges, Paris unexpectedly broke the kiss and pushed her body upward against his heated skin, brazenly locking her legs around his waist. Raking her fingers through his hair, she captured his lips in a searing kiss of her own, the cold steel of her piercing stroking his tongue, exciting him beyond limits.

Randy's brain was swimming as his conscience and his ego played a vicious tug of war. He knew he should stop this before it went too far. Shit, it's already gone too far, he told himself. He wanted nothing more than to fuck Paris—right here, right now—and she wanted him, too, but that tiny, little voice in the back of his head kept telling him that it wasn't the right time or the right place—in a pool with their friends and his rival only yards away. On the other hand, the thought of burying his cock deep inside this girl right under Paul's nose was a prospect he couldn't refuse. After all, she was more than willing and it wasn't as if he didn't care about her. Who are you trying to convince, Randy? Yourself? The more he argued with himself, the angrier he got. God, now he knew what crazy people felt like, listening to all the voices in their heads, arguing and whining and doing whatever. As much as he wanted to listen to his conscience and do the right thing, he was in a pool with a gorgeous, half naked girl wrapped around him, kissing him feverishly, practically begging him to fuck her. He was a man and men needed sex—simple as that. She was offering it—why shouldn't he take it? Maybe it was the weak thing to do, but in the end, Randy's ego urged him on as he made the move to show Paul once and for all that he meant business.

Reaching down, Randy deftly untied the little strings at Paris' hips that were holding her bikini bottom together. He threw the piece of material over his shoulder where it joined her top on the edge of the pool, and then, he proceeded to reach underneath her and cup her perfect derriere, pressing her against him as she continued to straddle his waist. Paris threw her head back, allowing Randy to trail kisses all along her neck, which was already covered with marks and love bites from his earlier efforts. With great ease and precision, his hand found the soft, warm folds of flesh between her legs and he felt her tense slightly as his fingers began to probe insistently. Randy tightened his grip on her rear end, urging her to relax, as he pushed one finger and then, a second inside of her. Paris arched violently, her body contracting around his hand. Randy gasped. God, she was tight. In fact, he had to wonder if it was this tight of a fit with two fingers, what was it going to be like with his dick occupying the same space? The thought excited him, but he was a little apprehensive, especially after he began to move his fingers in and out of her and as he probed as deep as he could reach, he thought he felt resistance. He knew that Paris was under 21 because she had a fake ID, but he also knew she was over 18. Could it be possible that she was still a virgin? If that was the case, then the stakes had just gone up. Now, he would have to protect her from Paul even more. Moreover, he had to stop this little tryst before it got anymore out of control. No one deserved to lose her virginity like this, especially not Paris. Jesus, this sucked. Now, he had to not only make sure she didn't fuck Paul, but he had to make sure she didn't fuck him, until he could find a way to convince Paul to call off the bet. He knew he had about a snowball's chance in hell of doing that, but he had to try. There was no way he was going to take this girl's virginity on a bet.

"Paris," Randy whispered as he withdrew his hand and steadied her onto her feet in the shallow water. "We have to stop."

Paris gripped Randy's arms as she tried to regain her balance and catch her breath. She began to shiver slightly at the sudden chill. "Why?" she questioned, confused. "Randy, did I do something wrong?"

Randy chuckled as he pulled her close to him once again. "Of course not, baby. I just don't think this is the time or the place. When we do this, it should be special."

"But, Randy…"

"Ssh—don't dwell on it, OK? It's gonna happen, just not tonight. But since I have you in this vulnerable situation, there's something I have to ask you."

"What?"

"Have you ever done this before? Sex, I mean?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

Randy gripped her shoulders and looked deep into her violet eyes. "Paris, are you a virgin?"

Paris' heart jumped into her throat. Amanda said guys never notice, yet Randy was obviously suspicious. She wondered how he could tell just from banging her a few times.

"Randy, I…I…"

Before she could finish her sentence, a splash of water hit her and Randy as the volleyball landed right next to them. They both glanced over to see Dave heading their way. He was going to be right next to them in a matter of seconds and Paris just happened to be naked as the day she was born.

"Oh my God!" Paris hissed. "Dave's coming over here—where's my suit?" She looked around, frantically searching.

"Relax," Randy told her as he stepped in front of her, blocking any view Dave may have had. Paris grabbed her suit off the edge of the pool and began struggling into the bottom.

"You know, your timing sucks," Randy stated, jovially as he tossed the volleyball to Dave.

"Sorry, man—it was Paul's fault."

Dave shrugged and headed back to the game, leaving Randy to wonder if Paul had purposely knocked the volleyball over there to break up anything that may or may not have been going on. Randy wouldn't have put it past him.

"Here, let me help," he said, reverting his attention to Paris once again as she tried in vain to fasten her bikini top.

"Stupid things are easier to get out of than they are into," Paris joked, turning her back to Randy and feeling his cool hands hooking the suit.

As he helped her straighten her top, Randy couldn't help copping a feel on her breasts and dropping a couple kisses on her bare shoulder.

"Remember when you asked me what I like?" Randy murmured in her ear.

"Yeah?"

"I like these a lot," he replied, squeezing her breasts. "They're just the right size for my hands."

Paris laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as she glanced back at him, amused. "I'm so glad they meet your approval," she retorted, smiling.

"Let me guess—C cup?" Randy went on, teasingly, his hands remaining where they were.

"Wrong—that's what I had added to what I already had, so I'm most definitely a D cup."

"Sweet," Randy whispered, turning her around and placing a kiss on each of her breasts before dipping his tongue into her cleavage and then, catching her lips in a quick kiss. He had suspected that she had breast implants—they were just a little too perfect. It didn't bother him though—a lot of girls did it anymore and if it made her more confident, more power to her.

"You're so bad," she said as she cupped his face with her hands, her eyes twinkling seductively.

"You have no idea," Randy replied, his voice low and husky.

He kissed her one more time before his mind went back to what they had been discussing earlier.

"By the way, Paris, you never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"The one about you being a virgin?"

"I…uh…umm…Randy, I'm really getting cold."

Randy sighed. "OK, nice job of changing the subject. Let's go." Inside, he couldn't help but think that her evasiveness had just given him his answer.

He lifted himself onto the edge and then, reaching down, helped Paris out of the pool. He grabbed a towel from the pool house area and wrapped it around Paris' shoulders.

"Come on," he urged, trying to leave the pool area unobserved. Of course, it was too much to ask that Paul wouldn't notice.

"Where are we going?" Paris asked, following him.

"How about my room?"

"Excuse me… your room?" Paris was confused, but continued walking next to him.

"Yeah."

"After you just shut me down, Mr. Lover, when I was all ready to go, and now, you want me to go to your room with you?" Paris tried to sound incredulous, but she was actually just teasing him.

Randy sighed again and put his arm around her as they entered the hotel and walked down the hallway to the elevator. "I thought maybe you could take a shower and warm up and then, we could watch a video or talk or whatever."

"Whatever? It's the 'whatever' that I'm curious about."

"Paris, I hate to break this to you, but I'm not some lust-driven sex maniac who has no control over his basic instincts. I mean it's not that you don't turn me on, because you do—God knows you do—but we just met and things were moving a little too fast in the pool. You're not going anywhere and neither am I. I'm OK with taking things slow." But not too slow, he told himself. If he moved too slowly, Paul might have the chance to slip in the back door.

"You really feel that way?" Paris asked, skeptically.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know—it's just that you're Randy Orton and I heard you were something of a player."

Randy snorted, his annoyance with gossip quite obvious. "Listen, Paris—don't believe everything you hear, OK? If you wanna know something about me, just ask."

"I guess I could say the same thing about me."

"Fair enough—I'll remember you said that the next time the virginity issue comes up," Randy said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped out onto his floor. "So you wanna warm up or not?"

"Sure," Paris replied, blushing as he opened the door and turned on the lights.

As Paris looked around the room, it was apparent that Evolution commanded the best of suites. Randy led her through the doorway on the right, which was his room, and showed her the bathroom. She turned on the shower, letting the water run as hot as she could stand, and without even closing the door, stripped off her bikini and stepped into the shower stall.

Removing his wet trunks and tossing them in the bathroom, Randy pulled on a pair of sweats and left an Evolution T-shirt laying on the vanity for Paris. Lazily, he stretched out on the bed and glanced at the clock. It was a little after 3 AM—highly unlikely anything decent would be on TV. Nevertheless, he turned the channel to an old movie and tried desperately not to think about the naked woman in his shower.

Paris seemed to be taking her time with her shower, every movement deliberate. Randy watched her appreciatively, her naked body in full view through the clear shower door. He seriously contemplated joining her, but thought better of it, deciding that he was going to get a concrete answer to his question first. Then, there was the matter of Rob Van Dam. That was a situation that he definitely wanted to know more about before he proceeded. As he glanced toward the steam-filled bathroom for what seemed like the millionth time, he still didn't know how to read Paris—it was hard to read someone who ran so hot and cold. One minute, she was blushing naively under his gaze and the next, she was seductively meeting his eyes, almost challenging him to come and get some. He got the feeling that she wasn't as innocent as she acted; but then again, her innocence wasn't completely an act. He didn't know how to describe it. Deep down, he didn't think Paris was the type to sleep around the locker room and if she was indeed a virgin, then the Van Dam issue was a moot point. It was obvious that something had gone down between the two of them, possibly in New Orleans, and even though it didn't change how he felt about her, Randy still wanted to know exactly what had happened, especially when it caused Paris to get so upset and Van Dam to act so aggressively. His inherent need to protect her had begun to overshadow his concern over whether Paul discovered the truth or not.

After what seemed like an eternity, Paris finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, where she dried herself off in full view of Randy. She noticed that he was making a point of not looking at her, trying to concentrate on the TV. The sounds of Dave, Paul, and whoever else entering the suite further distracted him, causing him to jump off the bed and lock his door as Paris slipped the overly-large T-shirt over her head and crawled under the covers. Randy laid down on top of the covers and curled up next to her.

"You tired?" he asked, smoothing her damp hair.

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled.

"Too tired to answer my question?"

"Mmm."

Randy sighed. The mystery of whether or not she was a virgin would have to wait for another day.

"Goodnight, Paris," he whispered as he flipped off the TV and closed his eyes.

**Please review. How do you think it's going so far? Any ideas, comments, suggestions are welcome. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially justagirl8225—I'm a big fan of your writing and I'm flattered that you're reading mine. ****J**

**Evilution :)**


	15. What Paul Knows Can Hurt You

Chapter 15 – What Paul Knows Can Hurt You

By Evilution

Disclaimers: I do not own any of the people, places or things in this story, except for Paris and Amanda.

The next morning, Paris awoke with a start as she often did when sleeping somewhere unfamiliar. However, she wasn't startled for long. It only took her a second to reorient and she knew the man sleeping next to her with his arm tightly curled around her waist was none other than Randy Orton. She smiled for a moment, feeling warm and secure. Carefully and quietly, she slipped out from underneath him so that she could sit up and watch him sleep. Tracing her finger along the tribal tattoo on his arm, she marveled at how angelic he looked in slumber—but not too angelic. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly, indicating that his dreams might not be as innocent. He reminded her of a naughty little boy, dreaming of what mischief he could get into today. She did notice that he had slept all night on top of the covers, which reinforced her notion that he truly respected her. Not only did he stop their tryst in the pool, opting to wait for a more romantic place and time, but somehow he was onto the fact that she was a virgin. Paris had neither confirmed nor denied his suspicions, but she had a feeling that it wasn't a subject he was going to forget.

Randy stirred slightly, but remained asleep as Paris moved to give him a light kiss on his forehead. As she was leaning over, she caught a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand and gasped audibly. It was almost ten o'clock! Oh God, we've missed the plane to RAW, her mind screamed. But as she rushed to the bathroom, it dawned on her that it was only Sunday. They still had a whole day and another house show in Fort Lauderdale.

Even though she wasn't running behind schedule, Paris thought it was a good idea that she check in with Jericho anyway. No one had seen her and Randy leave the pool party and she was sure that Trish was probably worried. Grabbing her wet swimsuit off of the bathroom floor, she dashed back to the bed and gave Randy a quick kiss on the cheek before practically skipping out of his bedroom.

As she quietly shut the door, she became aware of someone watching her. Turning, she saw Paul standing behind the wet bar, mixing himself a Bloody Mary. He was clad only in a towel and before Paris could help herself, she realized that she was gawking at his muscled chest. Although Paul's body didn't possess the lean, ripped contours that Randy's did, it was still quite a breathtaking view. Paul was actually only an inch taller than Randy, but whereas Randy was lanky and chiseled, Paul was more massive, more imposing, more…intimidating? His mere presence commanded the room, just like he always did in every other situation Paris had been in with him. Despite the cold, aloof attitude he always gave off, Paul smiled warmly at her as soon as their eyes met.

"Good morning," he said, pleasantly. Inside, he was practically seething at the fact that he'd apparently lost the bet to Randy.

"Morning," Paris mumbled, her eyes reverting to the floor. "I didn't mean to wake anyone."

"You didn't—we're all up already. Hair of the dog?" he offered, holding up his drink.

Paris shook her head. "No, thanks—I'm not hung over."

"Lucky you."

There was an awkward silence, during which Paul searched Paris' face and body for any evidence that Randy had scored. The fact that she was as nervous as a whore in church pretty much answered his question. That and one whole side of her neck was dotted with hickeys—no doubt reminders of Randy marking his territory. Paul smirked with sarcastic disgust, but before he could say anything, Paris began to head for the door.

"I better go," she said, offhandedly. "Chris and Trish are probably wondering where I am."

Paul chuckled. "Oh, they know where you're at. I think we all know where you were at."

Paris cocked her eyebrow, but for some reason she didn't take offense to his tone or his insinuation. Instead, she picked up the gauntlet.

"Well, just one more thing for people to talk about, I guess. The gossip mills in this place are worse that a quilting circle!"

Paul laughed once again. "In the WWE, most people know what or who you're doing before you do."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Sarah will have her fat mouth right in the middle of it."

"She really bothers you, doesn't she?"

"Oh, I don't know," Paris said, shrugging sarcastically. "Between her talking shit about me and stealing my best friend, what makes you think she bothers me?"

"Just call it a feeling," Paul replied. "I see the tension when you pass each other in the hall. I witnessed the little parking lot incident in Lafayette. It appears to me that you have a problem that needs fixing."

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"You don't have to do anything. Do you want me to get rid of her?" His tone was undeniably serious.

Paris blinked, taking a second to realize that when he said 'get rid of,' he meant to have her fired. At least, Paris hoped that was what he meant. For a minute, she felt like she was having a conversation with Tony Soprano and someone was about to get whacked.

"You mean have her fired?" Paris confirmed. "You can do that?" God, I'm an idiot, she told herself. Of course, he can do that—he's Triple H.

"You'd be surprised at the things I could do."

"Well, Shane doesn't seem to be intimidated by you."

"That's because Shane's too stupid to know any better. He sees me as some arrogant wrestler, one of the talent, his sister's ex. But he fails to see the bigger picture."

"Which is?"

"That I have more influence over Vince than anyone in this company, even if I'm not with Stephanie anymore. Vince listens to me above all others. When he wants to know what's going on—he comes to me. That's just how it is. It drives Shane and Stephanie crazy, but it's true. And in return for my loyalty, I get pretty much anything I want, no questions asked."

"Sounds like you've got everything all figured out, Paul."

"Let's just say I know how to make things run a little smoother for those in my inner circle."

"Meaning Randy, Dave, and Ric, right?"

"And a few select others. You and Amy could be in that circle if you so chose."

Paris chuckled. "Really? At what price?"

"All I ask for is loyalty."

"And just what does loyalty to you entail, Paul?"

"It's simple really. You hear something or see something that might be important, you let me know—even if it seems trivial at the time. Keep me apprised of everything and anything relevant. In turn, your loyalty to me would be generously rewarded."

"How so?"

"I could see to it that Amy gets the Women's title, I could get rid of Sarah for you, I could make Rob Van Dam clean the toilets—you name it. What do you want, Paris? I'm sure you don't want to be a travel coordinator forever, do you?"

"I don't know—I just got here. It's a little soon to be reaching for brass rings, don't you think?"

"It's never too soon to reach for the brass ring, Paris—remember that. I think you have a lot of potential."

She smiled. "For what?"

Paul touched her cheek. "I haven't quite figured that out yet. I know it's there—I just get this feeling that you possess a multitude of talents that have yet to be tapped."

Paris shivered slightly from his touch. She couldn't decide if it was out of excitement or that veiled fear she had of him that she couldn't explain. In her heart, she knew that Paul would probably never hurt anyone, but she got the feeling that he was someone who always got his way and he could be ruthless if crossed.

There was another uncomfortable silence as Paul's fingers trailed along her face and absently toyed with a stray wisp of her hair. Catching himself, he quickly withdrew his hand, not wanting her to think he was too forward, and shrugged casually.

"Anyway, it's up to you, Paris," he said, nonchalantly but matter of factly. "We make our own destinies. We choose which fork in the road to take. Sometimes, that road's a little smoother with the right kind of help. Just ask Randy—he'll tell you. If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have even been considered for Evolution."

"Well, I appreciate your honesty, Paul," Paris said, wanting nothing more than to escape from this rather awkward conversation. "You've definitely given me a few things to think about."

Paul nodded in acquiescence, but Paris was spared any further oratory by Dave, who entered the room looking a little overheated, even though he was only wearing a pair of running shorts. Paris glimpsed Amy in the hall, wearing an overly large Evolution T-shirt, similar to her own. The redheaded diva's hair was mussed and her lips and cheeks were flushed, indicating that she had just finished some pretty intense snogging with Evolution's monster. Obviously, Amy had seen Paris and decided to wait.

"Your partner in crime is waiting for you," Dave informed her as he jerked his thumb towards the hallway.

"Think about what I said, Paris." Paul stated, knowingly.

"I will. See you guys later."

Paris smiled at Dave and bid both him and Paul goodbye. Just as he had unknowingly done with the virginity discussion, Dave had once again interrupted a tense situation and allowed Paris the out she needed to get away.

"So, Miss Paris," Amy began in a joking, sarcastic tone once they were walking down the hallway. "What was it like to get RKO'd?"

"I didn't get RKO'd for your information, Miss Know-It-All. By the way, how was the monster?"

"Total pussy cat—but I don't really know. We just cuddled all night."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really, but I happen to know that you did more than that with Randy."

Paris sighed melodramatically. "Whatever," she said, sarcastically. Then, she changed her tone to a more serious one. "Amy, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," Amy replied, noticing that Paris had very smoothly diverted the subject away from her and Randy.

"Can a guy tell if you're a virgin?" she asked.

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Well, a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"Like how big he is or how small you are or how sensitive he is to the situation," Amy explained. "If a guy's just trying to get off, he's not going to notice, but if he's sensitive to your needs and he's into making sex good for both of you, then he might notice. Why? Did Randy say something?"

"Well, he was…um…we were…I mean, he kind of had his hand somewhere…um… and …"

Amy laughed. "So he was banging you? In the pool or in his room?"

"In the pool," Paris replied, blushing furiously.

"OK, go on."

"Well, he stopped all of the sudden and asked if I'd done it before."

"And what did you say?"

"I changed the subject—several times."

"I noticed you're rather good at that," Amy commented, smiling.

"So what should I do?"

"Well, obviously he's suspicious, so it's probably best if you tell him."

"But I'm embarrassed," Paris told her.

"Why?" Amy questioned. "It's not like it's a bad thing to be a virgin. I wish I had made a different decision 13 years ago."

"How old were you?" Paris prompted, unwittingly trying to change the topic again.

"Barely 16—way too young, but this isn't about me. Nice try, Paris. Seriously though, it's something to be proud of and Randy's going to respect you even more in the end. Besides, it's going to be a hell of a lot more embarrassing if he pops you and you bleed all over the place."

Paris' eyes got wide. "I always heard there's not that much blood," she replied, nervously.

Amy shrugged. "It depends. I had a friend that had to go to the emergency room because it wouldn't stop."

"No way!"

"Honesty's always best, Paris. He's not going to think any less of you, that's for sure. Do you want me to talk to Dave? You know, so he can pass it on to Randy and help him handle it more maturely."

"No! God, I'd die if Dave knew."

"OK, chicky—I guess I'll leave it up to you, but I really think you should tell him."

"I will," Paris agreed. "I just have to find the right time."

"So what are your plans for today?" Amy asked. Now, it was her turn to change the subject.

"I don't know—I need to go get a swimsuit. How bout you?"

"Nothing much—Dave and I were going to do something, but he and Randy have to rehearse for tonight, so I guess I'm on my own."

"I didn't know Dave was involved in any angles yet. Isn't he just working house shows?" Paris inquired.

"Yeah," Amy explained. "Shane wants him to be up on all the angles for when he comes back. The house shows are just to get rid of ring rust."

"Well, you can hang out with me if you want," Paris offered.

They came to a stop in front of Amy and Lisa's room. "OK, I'll shower, we'll have breakfast, and then, do some power-shopping. God, I hope she's not boinking Jay in there," Amy quipped, referring to Lisa.

Paris laughed. "You want me to invite Trish?"

"Sure, and I'll invite Lisa, but they probably have to rehearse, too. Dave said there were a shitload of script changes for tonight and for RAW. I guess I should be happy I'm not back on the roster yet."

Paris heard Amy's words, but she could tell that the diva really wasn't happy to not be on the roster. It was obvious that her friend wanted to be right in the middle of things, but due to circumstances beyond her control, she couldn't. Paris hoped that an afternoon of 'girl stuff' would cheer Amy up.

Paris bid Amy goodbye and watched as the door closed quietly behind her. She didn't hear any shrieks or commotion, so she assumed that Amy hadn't walked in on Jay and Lisa in any compromising situations. She walked a little further down the hall and knocked quietly on Jericho's door, hoping that he and Trish were still there since she didn't have a key. Chris answered and looked her up and down with a friendly, but knowing, smirk on his face. Trish hovered in the background, looking concerned.

"Good morning, Cinderella," Chris teased.

"Morning," Paris mumbled, making her way into the room.

Chris chuckled. "So, you get RKO'd?"

"Chris!" Trish shouted, shocked by his lack of tact. She slapped him on the arm.

"Ow!" Chris whined.

"God, would everyone stop saying it like that?" Paris exclaimed with mock indignation. She tried to act mad, but the look on Jericho's face was just too funny. Paris knew she had to tease him a little. "If you wanna know if I slept with Randy, why don't you just say 'Did you fuck Randy?' I don't walk up to Trish and ask her 'Hey, did you get Jericho'd last night?' I don't say to Lisa 'Hey, did you get Christian'd this morning?' Who does that? I mean what is this 'did you get RKO'd' business?"

Trish giggled, as Chris looked incredulous. "Jeez, sorry—have a meltdown, why don't you?" he shot back. "I happen to be a gentleman, thank you very much. I'm not going to walk up to you and say 'Did you fuck Randy?' That's not my style."

"Well, it's a hell of lot less annoying," Paris countered.

There was a short pause, as Chris and Trish glanced at each other awkwardly.

"So did you?" Y2J urged.

"None of your business," Paris replied.

Trish laughed musically, causing Chris to give her and Paris an annoyed look. "I hate to be rude, Paris," the blond diva explained. "But we're really running late."

"Do you guys have rehearsals?"

"Yeah, there was a bunch of script changes," Trish confirmed. "Plus Sundays are usually kind of hectic anyway getting ready for RAW. How'd you know about the script?"

"I guess Dave cancelled some plans on Amy because he and Randy have to be at the arena, too," Paris told the blond couple. "Do you need me to do anything, Chris?"

Chris shook his head. "Nah, take the day off, but I need you at the arena tonight. You wouldn't dog me on our last night together, after all we've been through, would you?"

Paris laughed. "Of course not. I'll be there later this afternoon."

Chris and Trish bid Paris goodbye and rushed out the door as Paris hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign and quietly shut the door.

"Did you see her neck?" Paris heard Chris exclaim as the door was closing.

"Ssh—it's none of our business," Trish chided as their voices trailed off down the hall and became indistinct with distance.

Paris sighed as she whipped off her T-shirt and jumped in the shower. She hoped Chris and Trish didn't think badly of her for making out with Randy—they knew how much she liked him. She pushed the thoughts from her mind—they were her friends and they were just concerned, like a brother and sister would be. Paris began to relax, relishing how good the hot water felt on her skin, and she let the stinging spray bombard her body for as long as she could stand.

After scrubbing herself with raspberry soap and washing her hair, Paris stepped out of the shower and wiping the steam off of the mirror, surveyed her reflection carefully. The right side of her neck immediately caught her attention. It was dotted with tiny bruises and bite marks, evidence of her tryst in the pool with Randy. Shaking her head and deciding it was silly to try to cover it up, Paris made a silent vow to give Randy plenty of grief about it later—jokingly, of course. She couldn't help but wonder if this meant that she was his now—he had marked his property.

Meanwhile, in Evolution's suite, Paul was literally fit to be tied about the recent course of events. It was practically killing him, wondering if Randy had sealed the deal or not. More than anything, he wanted to run into his young teammate's room and demand some answers, but he didn't want any interference from Dave, who was casually and annoyingly reading the paper at his leisure. Finally, Dave rose and went into the other bedroom that he had shared with Amy the night before, allowing Paul the opening he needed. Paul hurried into Randy's bedroom and stood over the bed, glaring at the younger man as he slept peacefully. He tried to wake him by calling his name, but Randy barely stirred. Unable to contain his impatience any longer, Paul roughly kicked the bed, causing Randy to look up.

"Wake up, lover boy," The Game demanded.

"What do you want?" Randy replied in a sleepy, annoyed voice.

"Do I owe you money, you little fuck?"

"What?"

Paul rolled his eyes and spoke very slowly, like he was talking to a child. "DO…I…OWE…YOU…MONEY…YOU…"

"I fucking heard you the first time! Get out of my room!" Randy snapped.

"Are we a little cranky this morning, Randall?" Paul mocked.

"Fuck you!" Randy shot back.

"Just answer my question and I'll leave you alone."

"No, you don't owe me money!" Randy exploded. "OK! Are you happy? Will you leave me the fuck alone now?"

"No?" Paul continued in his mocking voice. "Come on, Randy—I saw her neck, I know what was going on in the pool. I can't believe you still couldn't seal the deal—how pathetic is that?"

"Look, Paul, maybe that's your style, but it's not mine, OK?" Randy shouted angrily, sitting up in bed. Paul hadn't noticed that Dave was now standing in the doorway, observing the scene with interest. "Maybe you can just fuck a girl any time, any place, but I can't! I'm not like that!"

"Oh, excuse me while I cry you a river, Randy," Paul sneered, an evil smile crossing his face. You are like that and you know it—don't try to be self-righteous with me. You forget who you're talking to. I know what this is all about."

"Oh, really?" Randy retorted, irritated. "Why don't enlighten me since you think you're so smart?"

"You like her, don't you?" Paul challenged. "I should have known after the way you acted at the club with the Van Dam situation."

Randy snorted incredulously, but inside, he was silently lamenting his actions at the club. Fuck! I knew it—he noticed, Randy told himself.

"Don't be stupid," he told Paul in a sarcastic tone, hoping to disguise his true feelings. "I don't like her any more than you do—I'm just trying to win, and if that means keeping Van Dam away from our interests, I'll do whatever it takes. Besides, I think we both won some major points last night, don't you, Paul? I mean, first, you came to her rescue with Van Dam. Then, I acted all pissed off and jealous and I stopped the incident in the pool—which lets Paris know that I 'respect' her. It's gonna get me a lot farther in the long run if I play the gentleman."

Paul laughed. "The long run? What long run? Come on, Randy—I'm not stupid. It's pretty obvious that you like her—otherwise, you could have nailed her in the pool last night—pass go, collect $200, get out of jail free, bet over, end of story! But no—you're obsessing about what she thinks about you and worrying about the timing and the place. That means you like her. You're looking at a future with her. You want to drag this thing out until she trusts you enough and then, you can confess everything, like the good, little Boy Scout you think you are, Orton. Then, you hope that she forgives you for your misguided, macho arrogance and she buys the whole 'I didn't really know you when I made the bet and then, I really started to like you' routine. What a bunch of horseshit! You don't really like her? Nice try, Orton. I have to admit—you're good, kid, but you're not that good. Why don't you just spare everyone the grief—nail her and get it over with?"

"Yeah, well, you can think what you want, Paul. If this is about timing, I'm not out to be the fastest gun in the West, just the best."

Paul chuckled, sardonically. "I can't believe how transparent you are, Orton. You've seriously got the hots for this chick, don't you?"

Randy glanced at Dave in disgust. He couldn't believe how arrogant Paul was. Actually, yes, he could believe it. He just wished Paul would get the hell out of his room and stop talking about Paris. She was none of his concern. Randy was so angry at that moment that he made a mistake that he would probably end up regretting. He showed Paul his hand.

"You know what, Paul—so what! So what if I do like her! What are you gonna do about it?"

"Well, if you think this changes anything, Randy, you're wrong."

Randy laughed bitterly. "Naturally, I know better than that, Paul.

"And don't even think about telling her the truth about me because I don't think I have to tell you who'll get incriminated with me. If I go down, you go down with me."

"What if I tell her?" Dave interjected, unexpectedly.

Paul snorted, but went on without missing a beat. "And have Amy Dumas find out that you were involved in this whole sordid mess? I don't think so."

"You unbelievable prick!" Dave shot back.

"Why are you doing this, Paul?" Randy continued in disbelief. "Why is it so important that you nail this particular girl?"

"Because I can and I will," Paul replied, smirking. With that, he brushed past Dave and strolled out of the room with Randy flipping him off as he left.

Dave slammed the door and rushed over to Randy, looking as if he were about to kill someone.

"What are you gonna do, man?" Dave whispered, heatedly. "You showed him your hand and now, you're fucked! Not only that, but now, I have to worry about Amy finding out."

"Not necessarily," Randy replied, feigning calm. Inside, he was practically kicking himself, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess.

"What do you mean—not necessarily?" Dave retorted, his whispering voice reaching a near fever pitch. "Randy, it's a lose-lose situation. You win the bet, you lose the girl—because you know that Paul's going to be the first one to tell her. You lose the bet, you definitely lose the girl—because that means Paul beat you to the punch if you know what I mean. And then, when it's all said and done, I lose the girl's best friend."

Randy didn't answer, but began rubbing his temples, trying to ease his tension.

"Well?" Dave urged.

"I'm thinking!" Randy snapped.

"Great! Nero fiddled while Rome burned. God, why did you tell him you liked her?"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do, Dave?" Randy shouted, jumping out of bed. "He's got it figured out! I guess it's my fault because I can't hide how crazy I am about her."

"It's both our faults for getting involved in this stupid bet in the first place," Dave lamented, immediately regretting that he was being so tough on Randy.

"No, it's my stupidity," Randy argued. "It was my idea, remember? Now, I have to figure out how in the fuck I'm going to win the bet and win the girl. You have no idea how much more is at stake."

"What do you mean? You mean because Paul knows you like her?"

"Well, there's that, and then, there's something else."

"What, dude?"

Randy leaned close to Dave and whispered in his ear. "It's Paris—she's a…."

"What?" Dave questioned. He couldn't make out the last part of Randy's sentence.

"She's a virgin," Randy whispered, barely audibly.

Dave closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, the magnitude of what Randy had just said sinking in. Randy was right—this was way worse than they had thought.

"Oh, fuck, you've gotta be kidding me?" Dave exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. "What the fuck are you gonna do now?"

"I don't know, man!" Randy shouted. "But I do know one thing…" He lowered his voice. "There is no way I'm taking Paris' virginity on a bet. So I have to figure out some way to hold her off, but not hurt her feelings, and keep Paul at bay, too."

"I don't envy you, brother," Dave said, slapping his shoulder. "I'm gonna get dressed while you shower. I need to get outta here—I can't even stand to be in the same room with him when he acts like this. Besides, we need to get to the arena so we can go over the script changes."

Randy agreed, his head hanging dejectedly as he went into the bathroom to shower and Dave left to change clothes. Dave sympathized, but there was nothing he could do. Paul had picked up the gauntlet when Randy had first made the bet and now, it was up to Randy to follow through with the duel and rescue the damsel in distress. There was no other way out.

Meanwhile…

Paris checked her reflection in the mirror one more time before rushing out the door to meet up with Amy. The red headed diva was attired much like Paris was—shorts, tank top, tennis shoes, and a minimal amount of make-up. Regardless, Amy still looked gorgeous, as she always did. And it wasn't as if either one of them cared. Dave and Randy wouldn't be around to impress.

The girls decided that they were hungry and stopped in the hotel coffee shop for a quick breakfast before heading off on their shopping expedition. Paris, who never went shopping without a list, was jotting things down on a napkin as they spoke. She had to find a swimsuit and Amy needed to make a detour at the drug store for some female items, but other than that it was fair game. Just as they were finishing their meal, The Game himself walked into the restaurant.

"I'll get that," Paul stated, snatching Amy and Paris' check from the startled waitress.

"You don't have to do that, Paul," Amy told him.

"It's the least I can do after beating you at volleyball last night, Ames." He handed the waitress some bills along with the check, instructing her to keep the change.

"So what are you ladies up to?" he inquired.

"Shopping, maybe lunch—whatever," Amy said.

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Don't you have rehearsals?" Paris remarked.

"Actually, I'm not wrestling tonight," Paul explained. "I just have a promo on Goldberg—nothing of mine changed."

"Cool," Paris stated. "You're more than welcome to come along."

"Yeah," Amy agreed, smiling. "You can carry our bags—just kidding."

Paul smiled wryly. "I knew I'd be of some use. You sure you don't mind?"

Both Amy and Paris nodded, not minding at all that he chose to join them. Paul was usually very pleasant company when he was in the right mood. What could it hurt for him to tag along? Just as they were getting ready to leave, Randy and Dave strolled into the restaurant, loaded down with gear. The guys immediately spotted Amy and Paris, and approached the table.

"Hey, what's up?" Dave asked, kissing Amy on the cheek.

"We're gonna do some shopping," the red headed diva replied. "Paris needs a swimsuit and Paul's gonna go with us and be our bitch for the day."

Dave nodded, somewhat taken aback that Paul was going on a shopping trip with his and Randy's girlfriends, but he didn't say anything. Randy's eyes narrowed with mistrust as he cast a flashing glance at Paul.

"Why are you going along?" Randy demanded, obviously annoyed.

Paul laughed lightly, amused by the younger man's apparent jealousy. "You heard Amy—the girls need a pack mule."

Dave shifted with discomfort, hoping there wasn't a big scene between Randy and Paul in the middle of the coffee shop. Randy was obviously pissed, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It wasn't like he could get out of work and there wasn't any way he could force Paul to not accompany the girls without looking like he was being a dick. Distracted, Dave glanced at his watch.

"Shit—we gotta go, babe," Dave stated apologetically.

He gave Amy another kiss—on the lips this time as Randy gave Paris a quick peck on the cheek. The girls and Paul headed off toward the street entrance as Randy and Dave left in the opposite direction to exit through the lobby. As they were leaving, Randy glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Paul, smirking arrogantly as he guided Paris out the door with his hand firmly placed on the small of her back.

"RKO—let's go!" Dave shouted, cutting into his thoughts.

"Coming!" Randy called after his friend. "Fuck," he muttered with a final glare at the exit.

Inside, he was practically shaking with impotent rage at Paul's audacity. What a mockery to think that maybe—just maybe, Paul would ease up a little bit now that he knew Randy liked Paris. Of course, he knew better. This revelation only prompted Paul to act even more aggressively. God, I'm an idiot, Randy told himself. Why in the hell did I tell him? But it wasn't as if Paul wouldn't have figured it out eventually anyway. It was just that he had caught on sooner than Randy had hoped. Now that Paul had detected a weakness, found a chink in the armor, Randy was going to have to pull out all stops to protect Paris, even if it meant playing a little dirty where Paul was concerned. He would not allow Paul to get the girl, not this time. More importantly, he would not allow Paris to be hurt.

It was time to play the game.

**Please review—sorry it's been so long. Hope you enjoy.**

**-----Evilution**


	16. An Evolutionary Assignment

Chapter 16 – An Evolutionary Assignment

By Evilution

Disclaimer: All characters belong to WWE, except Paris and Amanda. I own nothing, so don't sue, K?

Amy, Paris, and Paul decided to embark on their shopping expedition on foot since the hotel was within walking distance of some very trendy shops. Their first stop was a swimwear boutique, where Paris began trying on a multitude of different colored swimsuits, each of which she modeled much to Paul's delight. Before long, he was choosing different styles and colors for her, always making sure that he picked out the skimpiest and the sexiest of suits for her to try on.

After about an hour, Paris finally decided on a very sexy black bikini and a tropical print one with a matching wrap, but as she was handing her choices to Amy, her heart sank when she saw the price tags. Each suit was ninety some dollars. Paris couldn't even afford one of them, much less both.

"God, finally," Amy lamented, grabbing the suits. "So you want both of them?"

"No, neither one," Paris replied. "Let's go see if we can find an Old Navy or a Walmart—something a little more economical."

Amy nodded with understanding. Paris didn't need to say anymore. Amy was well aware that Danny had put Paris on a very tight budget. They had just gotten paid, but Paris had to live on her check for a whole week. She couldn't be frivolously spending money on extravagant bathing suits. Amy took leave of Paris and went to hang up the suits while her blond friend got dressed. Paul looked up as Amy approached.

"Did she finally decide?" he asked, sighing with amused impatience.

"She's not getting anything," Amy said, placing the suits back on the rack.

"What! That black one looked great on her."

Amy leaned close to Paul. "Promise not to say anything?"

"Of course."

"She can't afford them. She wants to go to Old Navy."

"Screw that," Paul exclaimed, grabbing the suits back off the rack.

"What do you think you're doing?" Amy demanded.

"You can keep a secret, can't you, Amy?"

"Yeah, but Paris is gonna know you paid for them."

"I want Paris to know—it's Randy I'm concerned about, so don't mention it to him, OK?"

Amy shrugged indifferently. Far be it from her to interfere. The last thing she wanted to do was get mixed up in a Paul/Paris/Randy triangle, and she was almost certain that Dave would echo those sentiments. So what if Paul wanted to pay for the swimsuits? It wasn't like he didn't have the money and having the suits would make Paris feel good, so what was the harm? Of course, Amy didn't trust Paul any further than she could throw him, but in the end, she decided that it was just none of her business. She glanced up as Paris exited the dressing room and stepped forward, ushering her friend outside and thus, preventing her from seeing Paul at the check out counter.

"Where's Paul?" Paris questioned, looking around.

"Umm…I don't know. He must be buying something or making a phone call—I don't know."

Paris nodded nonchalantly, not the least bit suspicious about Paul's absence. They only had to wait a few minutes before Paul exited the boutique carrying a small bag. Amy noticed that Paris' mood had darkened somewhat, the whole swimsuit thing kind of killing the casual atmosphere. Maybe the fact that Paul bought them would cheer her up. Before she could ponder any further, her cell phone rang.

"Where to now?" Paul asked Paris as Amy stepped away to answer her phone.

"Amy wants to go to the drug store on the corner," Paris stated glumly. "She needs to get some make-up remover and tampons."

Paul winced at the word 'tampons.' "TMI, Paris—all I need to know is that we're going to the drug store.

Paris smiled slightly. "What'd you buy?" she asked, changing to a more comfortable topic than feminine hygiene products.

"Oh, this?" Paul said, shrugging noncommittally. "This is for you." He handed her the bag.

Paris looked confused, but took the bag nonetheless. Inside were her two swimsuits and wrap. Obviously, Paul had bought them for her, but why?

"You bought these for me?"

Paul shrugged once again as if it were no big deal. "Yeah, they looked perfect on you and nothing at Old Navy is gonna fit that well."

"I can't accept this, Paul," Paris replied sadly. "I don't need charity."

"It's not charity—it's called friendship. We all know your old man cut you off and things are a little tight for you right now."

"But still…it's too much. It's like…$200!"

"Hey, you needed a swimsuit and besides, I think I can spare 200 bucks," Paul said as he placed his hands gently and reassuringly on her shoulders. I'll make it up when I win the bet, he told himself. "Look, I won't take no for an answer, OK?"

Paris smiled. "As usual, I get the feeling that people don't say no to you very often, Paul."

He chuckled. "They don't, so when they do, I don't take it very well. But, one request?"

"Name it."

"Don't say anything to Randy."

"Why not?"

"Because he's young and insecure and he'll read more into it. He'll think I'm after more than just your friendship."

Paris laughed. "Are you?" she asked smiling.

"Normally, I'd say yes, but Randy's already staked his claim. Besides, I like my little Evolution family to be harmonious—no sense rocking the boat."

Paris nodded as Paul leaned close. "But you did look damn sexy in that black suit."

"Thanks for noticing."

"My pleasure," he replied silkily, a very Triple H smirk on his face.

Paris and Paul's fleeting flirtation was cut prematurely short as Amy approached, having finished her phone call.

"Are we ready to hit the drug store?" the red head asked.

"Yeah, who called?" Paul asked, but before Amy could answer, Paul's cell phone rang and he lagged behind to talk as the girls went on ahead.

"It was Dave on the phone," Amy whispered, linking arms with Paris. "Randy's all jealous that Paul went with us so he had Dave call to check on you."

"God, what am I gonna do with these boys?"

"I wouldn't tell Randy about Paul's gift if I were you."

"Paul and I already covered that."

Their conversation ended as Paul caught up with them, having finished his call. They stopped in front of the drug store as Paris chose to wait outside with Paul while Amy went into the store.

"Hurry up and get your tampons, Amy!" Paul called loudly as the red head was opening the door.

"You told him? Jeez, Paris!" Amy exclaimed, flouncing inside in a huff.

Paris and Paul looked at one another and then, shared a chuckle at the diva's expense. Fortunately, Amy was only gone a few minutes and as she emerged from the store, they decided to hit a couple more shops before stopping at an open-air café for lunch. Once again, Paul insisted on paying for the meal. After some initial maneuvering, Amy and Paris finally relented and let him play the gentleman. As they were heading down the sidewalk, Amy's phone rang once again.

"Who's calling me now?" Amy wondered out loud with annoyance. "Hmm…number unknown. Hello?"

"Have a good time with King Kong last night?" the sarcastic voice of Matt Hardy echoed through the phone.

"Matt, what do you want?" Amy replied, exasperated, as Paris rolled her eyes at Paul.

"Rob told me what happened at the club," Matt stated.

"Good for Rob—now what do you want?"

"Everyone's talking about you, you know? You and your slut friend, Paris."

"Matt, I don't have time for this."

"I'm sure you don't. You're too busy fucking Dave Batista—and probably Trips and Orton, too!"

"Jesus Christ, grow up!"

"You want me to grow up, Amy. Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

"Why would I do that when I have Evolution to do it for me? Now, go to hell!"

"Dare I ask?" Paris said as Amy disconnected the call.

"Just the usual. Now, I'm fucking Paul and Randy, too."

"Oh, really? You should tell him that he's such a pathetic loser that he ruined men for you and so you're fucking me now," Paris laughed.

"Now that I'd like to see," Paul put in.

"I'll bet," Paris and Amy replied in unison, laughing and steering the Cerebral Assassin into yet another trendy store.

After hitting a few more stores, Paul noticed that it was getting late and the two women agreed, deciding that they better call it a day and head to the arena. They stopped at the hotel to change and get their gear before heading to the Civic Center. Randy and Dave were already there, of course, rehearsals having run smoothly. After giving his nightly pep talk, Shane McMahon requested to speak with the four coordinators—Paris and three twenty-something guys named Theo, Abram, and Derrick—so he could give them their new assignments for the week.

"OK, people," Shane explained. "We only had three requests for coordinators this week, so one of you is gonna have to float wherever you're needed."

The three guys groaned audibly. Apparently, floating was not a popular position.

"And of course, you know that it's mostly based on seniority."

Everyone but Paris shared a conspiratorial look, because the guys knew that she was the newest, so she would be stuck as the floater.

"Theo," the Boy Wonder stated. "You'll be with me all week—I'm completely swamped and need all the help I can get."

Theo smirked, figuring he got the peach assignment with the boss.

"Abram," Shane rambled on. "You'll be with the Canadian Mafia—Jericho, Storm, Morely, Reso, and Trish if she needs anything, since she travels with those guys anyway. You'll probably be rooming with Storm and Morley, but I'll check on that. Paris, you're assigned to Evolution, excluding Ric Flair, until I tell you otherwise, so I guess that means, Derrick, you're the floater."

"Just a minute," Derrick piped up. "No disrespect or anything, Shane, but you said the floater job was based on seniority—I've been here longer than her." He cast an unfriendly glare in Paris' direction.

"I understand, Derrick," Shane said. "But Paris' assignment with Evolution is by special request of Triple H himself. He asked for her personally and I have to abide by his wishes."

"But that's not right, man," Derrick replied.

"I'm sorry," Shane lamented. "If anything else comes up, I'll let you know. Any questions?"

Everyone shook his or her heads no and Shane nodded amiably before walking off down the hallway. Once he was out of earshot, Derrick continued with his grievances.

"That's just bullshit!" he whined. "I get stuck floating while the newbie gets Evolution."

"She doesn't know all the ins and outs to be a floater," Abram spoke up in Paris' defense. Out of the three of them, he had been the nicest to her.

"Besides, you're not blowing Orton, so that explains it right there," Theo said rudely as he slapped Derrick on the shoulder.

Paris was shocked and angry at Theo's inappropriate comment, but she recovered quickly and threw a withering glance in his direction.

"Oh really? Then, how come you didn't get the job, Theo?"

"Oh, ha-ha—fuck you," Theo shot back, glaring at Abram, who was laughing uproariously, and Derrick, who was snickering in spite of himself.

"See ya around, guys. I gotta go report to Triple H and company. Bye, Abram." She gave them a jaunty wave and disappeared around the corner.

"Bitch," Theo spat at the sound of her retreating footsteps.

"Jeez, leave her alone," Abram remarked. "Consider yourself lucky, Derrick—you really wanna put up with Triple H's shit all week?"

Derrick shrugged. "Not really."

"The Canadian Mafia's a piece of cake," Abram went on. "If you get bored, I'll switch with you."

"I still think she's blowing Orton," Theo stated arrogantly.

"Who really fucking cares?" Abram shouted as the guys began to fan out to report for their various work duties. "Does it really matter?"

Theo shrugged and Derrick glanced down the hallway in the direction Paris had left. "Lucky Orton," he whispered to only himself.

After Paris took leave of her coworkers, she turned down a long hallway and knocked on Evolution's dressing room door. Randy answered and Paris noticed Paul, Ric, and Dave were all in the background.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hey, baby." Randy bent to kiss her and let her into the locker room. "What's up?"

Paris lowered her eyes and did her best to sound disappointed. "Guess who I'm coordinating for this coming week?"

Randy immediately noticed that she seemed bummed. "Not RVD or someone like that?"

"No—worse."

"Who?" Randy demanded, becoming exasperated.

Paris laughed. "You, you big goof! Shane said I'm Evolution's personal coordinator until he tells me otherwise. Isn't that awesome?" She threw her arms around him in a huge hug. "Thank you so much."

Randy glanced warily over Paris' head at Paul. He had no idea that Paul would finagle Shane into making Paris their coordinator. Now, Randy was going to have to be extra vigilant if he wanted to protect his interests. Paul smirked knowingly. Randy knew that he would make sure that Paris knew it was him who got her the job, not Randy, if she didn't know already.

"Actually, Paris," Randy said. "Paul has more stroke with Shane than I do—not that I don't think it's a good decision because I do."

Paris glanced between the two of them, not quite sure what to say. Shane had mentioned that it was Paul who requested her, but she just assumed that it had been at Randy's behest. Apparently, she was wrong.

"Oh—well, thanks, Paul," she said, winking, a tad flirtatious.

"My pleasure," Paul replied. "But I gotta warn you, we're all pretty demanding, especially Dave. He's a real prima donna—think you can handle us?" The Game ducked as Dave tossed a wet towel at his head.

"I'll do my best," Paris laughed. "Will I see you later?" she asked, turning to Randy.

"Of course," Randy told her. "We don't usually go out the night before RAW, but you have to get moved into our room anyway."

Paris jumped slightly, startled that she was expected to room with them. But she had roomed with Jericho, so why would this week be any different? "I'll meet up with you after the show," she said, a bit distracted.

"See ya later," Randy replied, kissing her cheek.

Paris quickly rushed down the hall, determined to find Shane after this shocking revelation that she would be rooming with Randy, Dave, and Paul. She had roomed with Jericho, but that was just one guy, and Trish had been with them the whole time. This was three guys—one of whom she liked very much, but all of who had questionable reputations, especially Paul. It wasn't like she was worried about Dave—he was totally into Amy and barely noticed anything else. But still—it was just one more thing for Sarah and all her cronies to gossip about. Paris looked up as Shane darted out of one of the locker rooms.

"Shane!" she called, chasing him down. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Shane glanced at his watch. "Make it quick, Paris—I'm slammed."

"Am I supposed to room with Evolution?" she asked.

"Is that a problem?"

Paris laughed, more of a snort of disbelief. "With three guys?"

"You'll either be on a rollaway or in a separate adjoining room at all times," Shane explained, rolling his eyes.

"Oh—well, in that case…"

"What're you stressing out about? Rumor has it you're already sharing Orton's bed anyway."

"Oh, rumor has it?" Paris replied with annoyance.

Shane nodded.

"Well, screw the rumors!"

"Are you denying it?"

"Look, Shane, didn't I already explain to you that this is none of your business?"

"And didn't I warn you about becoming the flavor of the week?"

Paris sighed with impatience. "Obviously, you don't know Randy very well."

"Oh, unfortunately, I do know Orton quite well—a hell of a lot better than you do." He scoffed lightly at her naiveté.

"Whatever, Shane—I think you should just mind your own business."

"Don't try to be such a bitch, Paris—you're not that tough."

"Why don't you kiss my rosy, pink behind, rich boy?" Paris shot back, half joking.

"Maybe later," Shane remarked, glancing casually at some papers in his hand. "Any more questions?"

"No."

"Good, get back to work."

And with that, he turned on his heel and rushed off down the hallway, leaving Paris staring incredulously after him.

The show went well and before long, the evening came to an end. Paris went back to the hotel with Randy, Dave, Paul, and Amy, and while they all got settled, she moved all of her things from Jericho's room into Evolution's suite. Before she left, Paris thanked Chris and Trish once again for the necklace and for showing her the ropes, no pun intended, during the past week. Chris, of course, couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease her and Trish for being sentimental—it wasn't as if they would never see each other again, he pointed out.

Paris went back to Evolution's suite, where she learned that she would be sleeping in the main room on a rollaway. Dave and Randy each had a double bed and Paul had an adjoining bedroom all to himself. Apparently, Amy was staying with them as well, even though she had her own room with Lisa and Stacy. Paris was the last one to use the shower and by the time she finished, Randy was sound asleep, as was Amy, her red hair spilling violently across Dave's chest. Dave was absently flipping through TV channels, trying to keep his eyes open—a battle he was valiantly losing. Paris wasn't quite ready to concede to sleep just yet, so noticing Paul's light on, she wandered into his room and leaned in the doorway. It took her a moment to find him—he was sitting on the floor stretching his quads.

"Hey," Paris said, garnering his attention.

"Hey," Paul replied, looking up and giving her a thorough once over. She was wearing a dark purple satin nightshirt that came to about the middle of her thigh. Paul's gaze flickered upward where he noticed that the top two buttons were undone, revealing a very generous amount of cleavage.

"What're you doing?" Paris asked, shifting anxiously under his scrutiny.

"My quads cramp up during the night, so I have to stretch."

"Need any help?" she offered, blushing at how stupid she sounded. "Sorry, I'm just bored," she went on after Paul gave her a strange look.

Paris watched as Paul rose and closed the distance between them. He was only wearing workout shorts and his hair was still damp from his shower. As he towered over her, Paris marveled at how big he was. She leaned against the wall as Paul leaned over and closed the adjoining door slightly.

"Did Randy like the swimsuits?" he whispered.

"I didn't get a chance to show him—he's sound asleep."

"Mmm," Paul mused. "Do you really want to help me?"

Paris shrugged. "Sure."

"Well, I've been wanting to do this all day and I promise I won't do it again—I just have to know."

"Hmm—now I'm intrigued."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm hmm."

Paris felt her knees go weak as Paul pressed his huge body against her and captured her lips in a sensual kiss. Wantonly, she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and molding her body to his. Paul released her lips and buried his face in her neck, trailing kisses along her soft skin, sending shivers down her spine. Paris gasped; she couldn't believe how aroused he was already. Her mind was spiraling out of control right along with her body—Randy was right next door! What if he walked in? What if he heard them?

Paul seemed to sense her hesitation and relaxed his grip somewhat—but only for a moment. With his left hand, he twined his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back to steal another heated kiss. His right hand gently cupped her left breast and he began teasing her nipple through the thin satin of her nightshirt. Suddenly, he stopped kissing her, a puzzled look on his face.

"What the hell…"

"I have my nipple pierced," Paris explained, feeling his fingers trying to make out the object under her nightgown.

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"I have my nipple pierced."

"No fucking way…"

"Ssh…" Paris scolded as she began unbuttoning her nightshirt.

Paul was practically bursting with anticipation. So much so that he took it upon himself to help her pull back the purple satin, revealing one perfect breast. There was a small vertical barbell in her nipple with a daisy on one end and a ladybug on the other. He stared in amazement. Jaded as he was, he had honestly never seen a pierced nipple up close before.

"That's pretty cool," he whispered, finally breaking the silence.

Paris paused, wondering if she should continue. She was already kicking herself mentally, telling herself that this should not go any further. But before she knew what she was saying…

"You can touch it if you want."

"Really?" Paul commented, not sure if he should or not.

"Mmm hmm."

She expected him to resume teasing the barbell with his fingers, but instead, Paul circled her waist with his hands and lowered his head, kissing her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. Paris gasped audibly and had to bite the heel of her hand as his mouth became more insistent, his teeth gently tugging on the barbell. As quick as it started, Paul lifted his head and reverted his attention back to her lips, his tongue gently but erotically probing her mouth. Paris twined her fingers in his damp hair as he slid one hand under her nightshirt, his fingers tracing the damp fabric of her lace thong. Paris leaned into his hand, but just as he was about to push her thong aside, he stopped, abruptly breaking the exchange.

"We should stop," Paul whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah, I suppose…" Paris agreed, equally out of breath.

"You better go to bed," he went on, releasing her and stepping back.

"Yeah, I should go…Randy…"

"He's still asleep," Paul told her, opening the door. "Sweet dreams, Paris."

"Paul?" Paris stopped him as he began to shut the door.

"Yeah?"

"Did you find out what you wanted to know?"

He smiled. "That and more."

"Goodnight, Paul," she said, returning the smile.

"Goodnight, Paris."

Paul closed the door and Paris tiptoed across the room to her rollaway. Thankfully, all three occupants were asleep, unaware of what had just transpired on the other side of the wall. Feeling somewhat agitated and overheated after her interlude with Paul, Paris tossed restlessly in the uncomfortable rollaway. Unable to take anymore, she quietly climbed into bed with Randy, snuggling against the comfort and warmth of his body. Randy stirred slightly, feeling her body against his, but utter exhaustion took over and he immediately fell back asleep, curling his arm around Paris' waist. After what seemed like an eternity, Paris finally got comfortable and fell asleep as well.

Next door, Paul was lying in bed thinking about Paris. God, she had really turned him on—and without even doing anything. He contemplated bragging to Randy, but in the end, decided against it. Now that he knew that Randy had feelings for Paris, it was best if any intrigues between him and Paris remained a secret. Maybe his lack of interest on the surface would trick Randy into thinking he had backed off and then, his young teammate might lower his guard and stop hovering over Paris. He chuckled quietly—this was going to be easier than he thought. Tonight had been a piece of cake—she just wandered into his room, not a care in the world, curiosity getting the better of her. Funny what a couple of gifts, a few well-placed compliments, and some attention could do. Girls like Paris were just too predictable

The next morning, Randy awoke somewhat disoriented. His usually limber body was cramped and stiff from sleeping in one position and as he looked down, he knew the reason why he hadn't moved. There was a woman curled up next to him—Paris, of course. He shook his head, trying to dispel the cobwebs of sleep, but suddenly, he was distracted. Not only was he spooned up against her, but also now, there was morning wood to deal with. Paris stirred slightly and rolled over, pressing her breasts against his bare chest. Warning signals went off in Randy's brain—now was definitely not the time, especially with Dave asleep only a few feet away. Knowing that he couldn't allow anything to get started, Randy quickly jumped out of bed.

"Good morning," Paris said as she stretched languidly.

"Morning," Randy replied, distracted.

"The rollaway was really uncomfortable, so I borrowed your bed—is that OK?" She stuck her lower lip out in the sexiest pout Randy had ever seen. She batted her eyelashes, trying to come off as pure innocence.

Focus, Orton, Randy's conscience told him. Don't give in to her teasing—she's the only one who'll be hurt in the end.

Randy rubbed his eyes and stretched absently. "Uh…sure, no problem. You just surprised me—that's all."

"Where're you going?"

"Shower," Randy mumbled, quickly rushing to the bathroom without any further explanation.

Paris' brow furrowed at his strange behavior, but she dismissed it. He probably just had to pee really badly and didn't want to be rude. She glanced over at the other bed. Dave was snoring lightly and Amy was gone. She heard Paul moving around next door, but Randy was in the shower so long that she ended up falling back asleep. The next thing she knew, Amy had come back and was shaking her as Paul urged her and Dave to get a move on it or they were going to miss their plane.

After some last minute rushing, the group finally made it to the airport and boarded the flight to Huntsville, Alabama. The flight was pretty uneventful as was their arrival in Huntsville. That is until they went to pick up their luggage. As the number of bags on the conveyor dwindled to zero, Paul was still missing one of his suitcases. Dave and Amy walked up having left Paris, Randy, and Paul several minutes ago to go get a rental car.

"Are we ready?" Dave asked.

"No, one of my fucking bags is missing," Paul replied, angry.

Dave sighed. "Why don't Randy and I load the car while you go over to customer service?" he suggested.

Paul agreed and headed over to the customer service counter with Paris tagging along while Amy went outside with Randy and Dave.

"How did they manage to lose your bag?" Paris rambled, trying to make conversation. She could tell Paul was on the verge of exploding, not being a very patient man in the first place. "We flew straight through with no layovers and all our stuff showed up."

"Because they're stupid. My fucking belt is in that bag!"

"How'd you get that through the metal detectors?" Paris asked jokingly, trying to lighten his mood.

Paul shot her a warning look. Obviously, he didn't handle minor snafus in his plans very well.

"Sorry," Paris said. "It's probably laying in the back somewhere."

They approached the customer service counter and luckily, there was no one else standing at the lost luggage line. A Latina girl with long red fingernails and a lot of make-up on was talking on the phone.

"Can I help you?" she asked, hanging up the phone.

"Yeah, you guys lost one of my bags and…" Paul began to explain.

"I did not lose your bag, sir," the girl replied crisply.

"I didn't say you did, but…"

"I'll need you to fill out these forms please," she said, pushing several pieces of paper and a pen at Paul.

"Look," Paul told her, making an effort to be patient. "We didn't have any layovers—it probably got overlooked or something. Can you just have someone check in the back for me?"

"That's not our policy, sir." The phone rang. "One moment please. Hello? Oh, hey, dawg!"

Obviously, it was a personal call and she was definitely going to ignore Paul to take it.

"Excuse me, miss?" Paul tried to get her attention, but she put a lacquered nail up indicating he should wait.

"I don't fucking believe this!" Paul hissed to Paris through gritted teeth.

"OK, I'll handle this, alright?" Paris said, danger signals going off in her head. She could see that Paul was on the verge of a major Triple H meltdown. "You go over there and calm down."

Paul stalked over to the waiting area as Paris futilely tried to get the girl's attention, but received a 'talk to the hand' gesture as well. Paris took a deep breath and decided she had had enough. Reaching over the counter, she slammed her hand down on the phone and disconnected the girl's call.

"Hey! That was an important call!"

"I don't give a shit if it was George W. Bush himself," Paris stated. "Do you see that guy over there?" She pointed toward Paul, noticing that everyone was staring at her.

"Yes."

"Do you know who he is?"

"What?"

Paris sighed. "Try to stay with me here, Moesha—do you know who that man is?"

"No!"

"That's Triple H, the wrestler, and he has a show—a live show—here in Huntsville tonight," Paris explained in a slow, icy voice. "But we have a problem! One of his bags his missing—the one that has his championship belt in it. Now, we didn't have any layovers, so I can't imagine that his bag grew legs and walked away. So I'll tell you what you're gonna do—you're gonna pick up that phone and use those Lee Press-On nails to call one of the baggage guys to go check in the back. We're not filling out any forms, we're not waiting while you talk to your 'dawg'—so why don't you start earning that $5.15 an hour and get on it, OK, J-Lo?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "My name is Jenny—can't you read?" She pointed to her nametag.

"Do I look like I care what your name is?"

Jenny grudgingly picked up the phone, but before she could make the call, a guy walked in with a black suitcase. He noticed that Paris was the only person standing in the lost luggage line and approached the counter.

"This one got overlooked," he said. "Is it yours?"

"What's the name on it?" Paris inquired.

"Levesque."

"Yes, that's mine," Paris said, hoisting the bag. "Thank you so much for checking." Paul walked up and relieved Paris of the burden.

"Don't I even get a thank you?" Jenny said petulantly.

Paris smiled a very fake smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jenny from the block—thank you…for being a total pain in the ass and absolutely no help at all."

She and Paul both turned and walked away, leaving Jenny with a very stunned and put out look on her face.

"Nicely handled," Paul said, sliding his arm around Paris' waist.

"I wasn't too rude?"

"Maybe a little—and loud, too—but I like it. And I got my bag."

"Well, I am the coordinator. It's my job to take care of your…'stuff.'"

"I guess my 'stuff' is in good hands," Paul replied, smiling.

Paris and Paul went out to the waiting rental car, which turned out to be a minivan, and rode to the hotel with Randy driving. Of course, Paul couldn't resist relating the story of Paris' throw down with Jenny to everyone.

When they got to the hotel, Paul, Randy, and Dave unloaded the van while Amy and Paris got them checked into their room. Apparently, Amy was giving up on rooming with Lisa and Stacy and was openly sharing a room with Paris and the Evolution boys. After everyone got settled in, it was time to load up their gear and head to the Von Braun Civic Center.

It was time for RAW is War.

**Please review—let me know what you think. Hugs as always!!**

**-----Evilution**


	17. Tattoo

Chapter 17 – Tattoo

By Evilution

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the WWE or elsewhere, except for Paris and Amanda. My friends, Kim and Howie, keep telling me when they hear that my heroine's name is Paris, they picture Paris Hilton. Trust me—she does not look like Ms. Hilton in any way. She just happens to be blond, beautiful, and obscenely wealthy—go figure. Enjoy! 

Paris, Amy, and Evolution arrived at the Von Braun Civic Center several hours before the start of RAW. Once they got there, Amy departed for the diva's locker room, while Paris went to Evolution's locker room with Randy, Dave, and Paul. Ric Flair was already there and he was going over his script, absently marking it with a red Sharpie. As everyone got settled, Paul glanced at his watch and realized that the writer's meeting would be starting shortly. He and Ric always made it a point to go to the writer's meetings so they could stay abreast of what was going on in the locker room and also, so they in turn could communicate locker room sentiment to the higher ups. Several of the wrestlers attended the meetings sporadically, choosing to speak for themselves rather than be represented by members of Evolution, but Paul and Ric were two of the few who were always in attendance.

"Hey, Ric, it's time for the meeting," Paul stated, getting the Nature Boy's attention.

Ric looked at his watch. "I haven't even finished the script yet."

"I can mark your spots while you go to the meeting," Paris offered.

"You're familiar with our scripts?" Ric questioned, eyebrows raised. He didn't really have an opinion on Paris as of yet, but he knew enough to know that Paul's interest in her had little to do with her ability to mark scripts.

"Yeah, I marked them for Jericho all last week."

"Excellent," Paul complimented. "See, Ric—she knows what she's doing."

Ric nodded, eyeing Paul warily as he and Paul left for the meeting. Dave also took leave of the locker room, opting to go look for Amy, and Randy dozed off on the couch for a much-needed nap while Paris sat back and began marking Ric's script.

Tonight, Steve Austin was going to attack Chris during the Highlight Reel and Eric Bischoff was going to make Randy team with Goldberg against Paul and Ric. His reasoning behind this was to put Goldberg at an obvious disadvantage at the hands of Evolution. Paris had seen Goldberg a couple of times over the weekend—he seemed to keep to himself and always had a scowl on his face. Paris felt it was best to steer as clear of him as possible, being that he didn't like Paul and her association with Evolution was common knowledge by now, even though it was only her first night with them officially. Dave still wasn't cleared to wrestle full time yet, but there were some notes in the script about his return in October and his house show schedule. There were also some notes about Amy's return to TV next week.

Paris finished Ric and Paul's scripts and then, got to work on Randy's. Dave popped his head in to tell her that he and Amy were going to go work out in the training room and shortly thereafter, Ric and Paul returned and woke Randy so they could rehearse. Paris went down to wardrobe and got all of the guys' costumes from Colleen. She even picked up Ric's robe, even though technically, he wasn't included in her coordinator duties. Colleen also gave her a couple of really cute tan pencil mini-skirts that used to be part of the female coordinator's uniform. Management had eased up on the uniform rule, making a black WWE polo or T-shirt the only required uniform, but as Colleen explained, the coordinators used to have to wear tan pants or tan skirts, for the girls if they so chose. Paris thanked her, all the while lamenting how she would work in something so short. On an average height girl, the skirts were short, but on Paris, who was somewhat tall, they were most definitely mini. No doubt Randy would appreciate their length, as would others in the locker room, but Paris opted to put them away for warmer weather.

By the time she reached the locker room, she was on the verge of breaking a sweat because Ric's robe was so heavy. She was relieved that Paul sent her to the catering room to get some cold drinks for him and the boys while they worked. As she entered the catering room, she became aware of several pairs of eyes on her. Sarah and Annie were sitting at a nearby table along with Theo, Derrick, and several members of the ring crew. Of all people, Rob Van Dam just happened to be standing at the table deep in discussion with Theo. Paris was so focused on ignoring them and on picking out sodas and bottled water that she barely noticed Amanda approaching her.

"Hey, Paris."

"Hey, Amanda," Paris greeted, turning to face her friend.

"How's it going?"

"Good, busy as usual."

"Yeah, I heard you're with Evolution this week."

"Yeah." Paris stared at the drinks in her hand, shifting awkwardly. It was so strange how they barely had anything to say to each other anymore.

"Paris, I don't mean to pry…I mean, not to be nosy or anything, but what's the story with you and Randy Orton? I'm just so sick of the rumors and I'd like to hear it from you."

Paris smiled. Amanda always had been direct and Paris was glad to see that her friend still was able to be so direct with her.

"Amanda, you're my best friend—you can ask me anything. To answer your question, we're good friends…I mean, I guess we're seeing each other. I don't know…I like him a lot."

Amanda looked around anxiously. "I hear he's…he's…"

"What?"

"You know—a player."

Paris chuckled. "I think he likes people to think that, but it's not really him."

"You're sure?"

"Well, not totally, but pretty sure…"

"Paris, please be careful, OK?" Amanda urged, concerned. She paused and glanced absently over her shoulder at Sarah and Annie, who were rising from the table and looking as if they were headed toward Paris and Amanda. "And what's the deal with Van Dam over there?" she went on.

Paris rolled her eyes. "Nothing happened there—I assure you."

"Not according to him," Amanda whispered as Sarah and Annie walked up.

Paris looked over at Rob just as he locked eyes with her, a sardonic smirk on his face. Theo and Derrick were also smirking like a couple of immature frat boys.

"Amanda, we need to get back to work," Sarah interrupted. "Oh, hey, Paris." It was the first time she had ever sounded remotely friendly toward Paris.

Paris bit her tongue for Amanda's sake, resisting the urge to tell her friend's smarmy coworker where to go. "Hi, Sarah, Annie."

"I'll talk to you later, OK, Paris?" Amanda said as she left with Sarah and Annie, leaving Paris to go back to gathering drinks.

But just as two of her least favorite people left her presence, another approached.

"Hey, Paris," Theo greeted, sidling up next to her. His face broke into a friendly smile.

Paris turned and looked him, not feeling quite as friendly. She was still stinging from his rude comment earlier about how she got to be Evolution's coordinator.

"Hey, Theo. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you wanna go out with me sometime."

Paris was shocked that he would have the audacity to ask her out after what he said. Nevertheless, she smiled faintly, not wanting to make any more enemies.

"Sorry, but I'm seeing someone."

Theo chuckled. "Oh, you mean Orton? He won't mind--he gets so much pussy I'm sure he won't miss you."

Paris glared at him, stunned that he would be so crude. "And why exactly do you want to go with me, Theo?" she demanded, thoroughly annoyed.

Theo shrugged, mock innocence. "Well, you're pretty hot—and Van Dam just told me what a great piece of ass you are, so I figured what the hell?"

As hard as she tried, Paris could not stop her mouth from falling open in pure stunned humiliation. She was so pissed that she could feel the heat rising in her face and the tears starting to prickle her eyes.

"So that's what Rob Van Dam told you?" she spat, finally able to speak.

"Yeah, he did," Theo replied, smirking. "He said you've got…"

But Theo never got a chance to finish his sentence. With a baleful glare, Paris set her drinks down and purposefully strode over to where Rob Van Dam was holding court with the Dudley Boys and La Resistance.

Rob looked up as she approached, his eyes glittering, ready for a challenge. He wasn't stupid. He'd watched her exchange with Theo and was actually hoping that she'd have the balls to confront him.

"Hey, Tootsie Pop…"

"Shut up!" Paris hissed through gritted teeth. "You listen to me, Rob—I'm warning you…"

"You're warning me?"

"Yeah, I'm warning you—you better stop telling lies about me and saying that we slept together because we didn't, OK?"

"Oh yeah?" Rob taunted.

"Yeah, and furthermore, I'm with Randy Orton now…"

"And Trips…and Batista—we get the picture," he mocked, prompting a smirk from Bubba. "Listen, Tootsie Pop," Rob went on as Paris glared icily at him. "I never told anyone I fucked you…"

"Bullshit!"

"Seriously, Paris, I'd never lie like that."

He paused for dramatic effect and Paris actually began to wonder if she had jumped to conclusions and once again, made an idiot out of herself. Not only had she made a scene, but she had admitted in front of the whole catering room that there had indeed been some sort of sexual intrigue between her and Rob. But as quickly as this fleeting thought occurred to her, Rob continued on, dashing her hopes that for once she was not the center of the gossip mills.

"Of course," he mocked, stroking his chin. "I did let everyone know that I'm somewhat of an 'oral authority' when it comes to Miss Paris Ocean."

Paris snorted with disgust, noticing that she wasn't the only one that Rob's particular sense of humor was lost on. Rene Dupree, Sylvan Grenier, and Rob Conway all looked mildly uncomfortable at the exchange they were witnessing. The three members of La Resistance liked Paris and didn't agree that she should be treated this way, but they were hesitant nonetheless to get involved in drama with RVD and the Dudleys.

"God, you're such an asshole!" Paris shot back as she turned to leave.

"Ooh, got me with that one, Tootsie Pop," Rob sneered.

Paris turned back to face Rob, her violet eyes so icy they would have frozen an ocean (no pun intended). "I hope Kane kicks your ass so hard you end up licking your own balls!" she snapped, her voice low and frosty. Turning once again, she walked off.

"But you're so much better at it, Paris," Rob smirked as he, the Dudleys, Theo, and Derrick burst out laughing.

Paris' spine stiffened, but she continued walking briskly out of the room, ashamed that people heard Rob's comment and even more embarrassed at the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

By the time Paris reached Evolution's locker room, her face was streaked with the same tears of humiliation that she didn't want anyone to see. She pushed the door open and noticed Randy reading his script. He was alone and concentrating so deeply on his reading that he didn't even look up when she slammed the door nor did he notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Where are the drinks, baby?" Randy asked, still not looking up.

"Umm…I forgot."

Randy turned to ask her how she could forget when that was what she went down to the catering room for in the first place when he saw her tears. In seconds, Randy was on his feet and two strides later, he had narrowed the distance between them and taken Paris into his strong arms.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"Randy, I…I…" she began, but started crying all over again.

"Paris, what's going on?" Randy demanded, becoming alarmed.

"It's Rob!" she sobbed against his muscular chest.

Randy looked at her questioningly. "Conway?"

"No, Van Dam."

Randy sighed. He knew that there was some big secret that she was keeping regarding RVD and he was dying to find out what it was, but after he and Paris' tryst in the pool, there hadn't been another opportune time to bring it up.

"OK, what happened?" the Legend Killer prompted as he sat Paris down on a bench and seated himself next to her. He handed her a tissue.

"OK, here goes," Paris began, dabbing the tears in her eyes. "When I was in New Orleans, I got really intoxicated and I almost hooked up with Rob."

Randy's jaw twitched with jealousy, but he stayed calm. "Almost?"

"I was too drunk to seal the deal," she explained. "I was trying to be nice to him because I had ditched him last Monday—you know, when I left the bar with you. I was supposed to be on a date with him."

"I still don't understand what 'almost' means," Randy said, getting more envious by the second.

"We just fooled around, that's all. Now, he won't stop talking about me and he won't stop calling me Tootsie Pop!"

"Tootsie Pop?" Randy retorted, puzzled. What the hell did that mean, he wondered.

"How many licks does it take?" Paris blurted out, embarrassed but exasperated. "Does that define 'almost' for you?"

It took Randy about half a second to realize what she was talking about. He could tell that she was upset, but he was pissed and jealous, too. Obviously, Rob Van Dam had been to some places that, at that time, Randy could only dream of going. And to make matters worse, RVD wasn't shy or selective about who he let in on this information. Fighting the urge to explode with rage, Randy managed to keep his cool.

"So…so do you like Rob? I mean, do you have feelings for him?"

"What? God—no, Randy!"

"Oh, OK—good. I mean, I'm glad."

"Look, I know it was stupid, because all I wanted was to see you again," Paris tried to explain through her tears. "But I was so drunk—I'd drank about six Hand Grenades, and I thought I was being bold and sexy by flirting with him. I was acting slutty because Rob was ignoring me…and…"

This pissed Randy off even more—the fact that Paris had initiated it.

"So…what? So…you just let him go down on you—just like that, just because he was ignoring you? Don't you see—that's exactly how he wanted you to act. He wanted you to come begging for it!"

"I knew you were pissed! I knew it!" Paris cried, a whole new deluge of tears starting.

"No, Paris—I'm not pissed at you. I mean…I'm pissed, but…fuck! I don't know what I am…I…" Randy stammered, trying to find the words. "What were you thinking? I mean, what the hell is his deal, taking advantage of you like that?"

"Its no big deal," Paris sniffled, sure that Randy would probably never want to spend any time with her again. "I just wish he'd leave me alone. But I guess it's not your problem." She absently wiped her eyes.

Randy looked at Paris, seeing how upset and ashamed she was. He immediately felt a pang of regret for being so harsh in his jealousy. Obviously, her tryst with Rob had not left a good impression on what sex was supposed to be. And it was no surprise, being that she was a virgin. Randy smiled inwardly. At least now, he knew the truth and he had confirmed that Rob Van Dam had not taken something from Paris that could not be given back. Rising, he headed towards the door.

"Randy, I'm so sorry!" Paris cried.

He stopped and turned back, taking her in his arms. "Paris, I'm not mad at you, OK?"

She nodded, sniffling as he gripped her shoulders and stared at her, his blue eyes meeting her violet ones.

"I want to hear it from you," Randy went on. "Tell me the truth—are you a virgin?"

Paris nodded yes and started crying all over again.

"Stop crying!" Randy shouted. "I mean…I don't mean to yell at you, but you shouldn't be crying over being a virgin. Do you have any idea how important that is? Do you have any idea how not worth it Rob Van Dam is? I mean, not that I'm an angel or anything, but Paris…baby, you have to be more careful. You can't just go and get stupid drunk and leave with someone you don't even know! Do you know how close you came to just handing him something that he didn't deserve, something that you could never have gotten back, something that he didn't even have to work for? Baby, when you decide to give it up, make sure it's right. Make sure the guy appreciates you and what you're giving him. Make him work for it. I know I'd work for it."

Paris sniffled, but smiled in spite of herself. "I thought that's what you've been doing."

Randy laughed softly, taking her into his arms. "Don't sell yourself short, Paris. I know that you used to be kind of a party girl and party girls get certain reputations, but…don't ever think that you have to settle for some asshole just because he's a professional wrestler. Not all wrestlers are like me or Dave or Jericho. Some people take for granted who they are and what they think they deserve. Remember that, OK?"

"OK, I will," Paris agreed, not realizing that he wasn't just talking about Rob Van Dam.

"Now, back to RVD…"

"Let's just forget about RVD," Paris suggested. "Like I said, I just want him to leave me alone and it doesn't look like he's going to be very cooperative in that area."

"Then I guess I'll just have to convince him—where is he?" Randy asked as he headed for the door, once again irritated.

"Randy, what are you doing?"

"Where is he?" Randy demanded.

"He…he's in the catering room," Paris stammered, not sure she liked the look in Randy's eyes or where this appeared to be heading.

Randy nodded and angrily stalked out of the locker room with Paris hot on his heels. She managed to catch up with him just as he entered the catering room. Dave, Amy, Ric, and Paul were already there, getting something to eat. Randy's eyes scanned the room until he spotted Rob Van Dam, still talking to the Dudleys and La Resistance. With a purpose on his mind, he strode across the room and slammed both of his hands into Rob's back, shoving him into Bubba Ray Dudley.

"Heads up, motherfucker!" Randy shouted as everyone looked up.

"What the fuck's your problem, Orton?" Rob shot back.

"You got two options, asshole—one, stop talking about my girlfriend or two, keep talking about her and I kick your ass!"

Paris glanced at Amy and they both mouthed the word 'girlfriend.'

Rob laughed. "In your dreams, punk."

"No, in reality," Randy assured him.

"Look, kid," Rob stated as if he were speaking to a child. "You might think you can push me around because Vince is making me job the IC title to you and you might think you can get in my face because you're Trips' boy, but make no mistake, Randy—you don't wanna fuck with me."

Randy clenched his fists. "Yeah? Just say one more word about Paris and I'll be doing more than 'fucking with you,' as you put it."

Rob chuckled sardonically. "Paris—this all about Miss Paris, isn't it? Listen, Randy, your little girlfriend is talented, I'll give you that, but as I recall, she wasn't your girlfriend at the time…"

"Yeah, well, she is now, so I'm warning you…"

"Hey, it's all good, Randy," Rob interrupted. "But let me give you a piece of advice about Paris—why don't you just tattoo 'Property of Evolution' across her ass and then, next time I'm bending her over, I'll know that I'm messing with your shit, OK?"

It was like slow motion. Paris was busy watching Rene, Sylvan, and Rob Conway, whose eyes popped in shock that RVD would have the nerve to say something so rude right to Randy Orton's face. Bubba closed his eyes, knowing there was going to be a fight, and with Evolution, no less. Sometimes, Rob's razor-sharp mouth had a tendency to overrule his brain, changing him from cool and casual to crude and obnoxious in a matter of seconds. Quick as lightening, Randy responded by landing a hard right on Rob's jaw. Rob fell backward into the Dudleys, but quickly recovered and speared Randy to the ground, where they continued to scuffle, fists flying furiously. Paris, Amy, and the rest of the girls in the room started screaming, cheering Randy on, as Paul, Dave, and Ric jumped in to separate their teammate from Mr. Monday Night. The Dudleys managed to restrain Rob in similar fashion.

"Motherfucker!" Randy shouted.

"Fuck you, you little punk!" Rob screamed back.

"Let him go so I can rip his fucking head off!" Randy yelled, struggling against Paul and Dave.

"Randy, stop!" Paris urged, placing a gentle hand on his chest.

"Yeah, Randy, listen to your little cock tease girlfriend—before you get hurt!" Rob retorted.

The description of Paris as a 'cock tease' sent Randy into a new fit of rage. He struggled in vain to get loose from Paul and Dave, screaming obscenities at Van Dam the entire time. Paul had finally had enough. He grabbed Randy by the throat, as Chris and Jay stepped in to help restrain the young Evolutionary. Paul wasn't stupid—he knew that Shane probably heard the commotion or would hear about it before the night was over. He couldn't risk putting Evolution in jeopardy because of Randy's macho pride.

"That's enough!" Paul snarled in a very Triple H like manner, his face only inches from Randy's. If he wasn't 100 percent sure that Randy was in love with Paris, this little display only served to confirm his notions and further fuel the fire.

"Chill out, kid," Dave urged, not wanting Randy to get into trouble.

Suddenly, everyone began to scurry around as Shane McMahon strode into the room. He looked around, knowing quite well that he had just interrupted some sort of a melee between what appeared to be Randy Orton and Rob Van Dam. Shane wasn't an idiot—he knew everything that went on in his locker room, whether it was who was fucking who or who was talking about whom—it didn't matter—he knew. The McMahon heir also knew and probably would have bet his father's entire fortune that the center of this current shit storm that he had just walked in on was none other than Miss Paris Ocean, everyone's favorite travel coordinator.

"Is there a problem, gentleman?" Shane asked as Paul and Dave loosened their grip on Randy and the Dudleys released Van Dam.

"No problem, Shane," Paul said, stepping forward. "Just a little misunderstanding."

Shane gazed witheringly at his least favorite employee. "Really? Everything OK, Randy? Paris?"

"Fine," Randy told him, his mouth in a tight line.

"Fine, Shane," Paris echoed, shifting nervously.

Shane eyed them all suspiciously, knowing full well that they were lying, but he decided to let it go. "Good. Let's get ready—it's almost show time, unless of course, you're all too enthralled with the show going on here?"

With a murmuring of voices, the crowd began to disperse, everyone taking off in various directions in order to get into place for the show. Paris noticed that Randy had a small cut by his eye and she noted with pleasure that Rob's lip was bleeding profusely.

"Are you OK?" she asked Randy.

"I'm fine," he replied, irritated that he didn't get to beat the hell out of Van Dam.

"You're bleeding," Paris said with concern. She reached up to gently touch Randy's face.

"I'm fine," Randy stated a little sharply as he grabbed Paris' hand.

"Are you mad at me?" Paris asked.

"No, I'm just pissed. He's an asshole."

"Yeah, he is, and he's not worth getting in trouble over."

"I guess you're right," Randy agreed.

"I'm sorry—I feel like this is all my fault…"

"It's not your fault, Paris," Paul interjected. "Let's just forget about him for now, OK?"

"Agreed," Paris said. "Come on—I've got all your costumes laid out and everything."

As the Evolution group, including Amy, began to head back to the locker room, Randy grabbed Paris' hand and pulled her back.

"I'm sorry if I seemed sharp—I'm just jealous, that's all."

Paris smiled. "You have nothing to be jealous of."

"It's just that he's been to places that I haven't and it pisses me off seeing it all over his smug face."

"Well, he's never going to those places ever again, but your outlook in that department is much more promising."

Randy chuckled and smiled a sexy smile. "I want you to be absolutely sure before you give anything up, Paris."

Paris looked downcast. "Listen, Randy, if you want to break up…"

"Break up? Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, the virginity thing and…"

Randy laughed. "You think that you being a virgin is a turn off? Baby, come on—are you kidding me? This ride is just getting started as far as I'm concerned."

Paris smiled and bent her head back, allowing Randy to capture her lips in a deep, sensual kiss. Randy gently nipped her lower lip with his teeth while casting a mocking glance at Rob Van Dam, who was watching the entire scene, his eyes flashing in an icy glare as he watched Paris and Randy leave the catering room hand in hand.

The show went amazingly well—Paris particularly enjoyed the part where Kane actually threw Rob Van Dam through one of the mesh sides of the cage during their steel cage match and then, subsequently pinned the arrogant prick for the win. After some last minute maneuvering, they all headed back to the hotel afterward. Dave and Amy decided to go out together while Paris, Paul, and Randy opted to stay in and catch a movie on cable. Paul ended up calling it a night not even half way through the movie, which opened the door for a very heavy make-out session between Randy and Paris.

It started out slow with just kissing and touching, but eventually progressed to the point where Randy, shirtless and in sweats, and Paris, in her white lace bra and Spongebob boxers, were both rolling around on the bed, laughing and shouting, as they switched from wrestling to making out as easy as one changed clothes. Finally, Paris laid back and closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath as Randy collapsed on top of her, her legs on either side of his hips. She gasped as he buried his face between her breasts, raining kisses across her soft, moist skin. Just as things started getting passionate, if not a little sweaty, Randy stopped. After the talk he had had with Paris earlier, he didn't think it was wise to consummate their relationship after coming off of the emotion and adrenaline of his fight with Van Dam. When he made love to Paris, Randy wanted it to be just right. And he wanted no interference from Paul.

Despite all the excitement of the night, Paul and the bet were never far from Randy's mind. He and Paris had the next three days off, during which they would be going to Hershey, Pennsylvania with Paul to promote Unforgiven and then, they were going yachting with Vince and Linda McMahon off of Martha's Vineyards. Paul had invited Randy on the trip weeks ago and it was just assumed that Paris would be going as well given the current situation of her being Randy's girlfriend and Paul's coordinator. Randy had told Paris of their plans during the show and she was more than excited to finally be seeing Vince again. Dave and Amy were going to Raleigh, North Carolina for their days off to spend some time alone in the red headed diva's hometown.

Randy knew that the next three days were going to be a challenge to say the least. Not only did he have to compete for Paris' attention with Paul, but also he was going to have to do it right under Vince's nose. This was not only going to be challenging, but interesting as well. Randy was prepared to pull out all stops to mark his territory. If Paul wanted to play the game, it was go time as far as Randy was concerned.

Game on.

You know the routine—please review. Hugs… 

**---Evilution**


	18. Vince, Linda, and the Doctor

Chapter 18 – Vince, Linda, and the Doctor

By Evilution

Disclaimer: All wrestling characters belong to the WWE. I only own Paris and Amanda, so be kind—don't sue, because I have nothing.

The next day, Paris left for Hershey, Pennsylvania with Randy and Paul while Amy and Dave flew to Raleigh, North Carolina for a few days of much-needed rest and relaxation. Paris wished that her days off would be as restful, but it appeared that Paul had a full itinerary planned for them, starting with a press conference and two radio shows on Tuesday to promote Unforgiven and then, they were flying to Connecticut where they were meeting up with the entire McMahon family to go yachting off of Martha's Vineyards.

They landed in Hershey early in the afternoon and after checking into the hotel, they went down to the local TV station that was promoting the pay-per-view for the press conference. Paris watched from the sidelines as Paul, Randy, and some other WWE employees answered questions about Unforgiven, mostly regarding Paul's World title match with Goldberg. Several reporters asked Randy about his match at Unforgiven with Shawn Michaels. Randy responded in character, total Legend Killer attitude, saying that Shawn Michaels--HBK, The Heartbreak Kid, The Showstopper--was just another rung on his ladder to immortality. Beating HBK would only elevate Randy from Legend Killer status to Living Legend. Next, they went to two different radio stations where Randy and Paul plugged the show and took some questions from callers.

Before Paris knew it, it was early evening and hunger was starting to take its toll on her. She was relieved when Paul suggested they have dinner and then, Paris could have the evening off while Paul and Randy met with some of the writers and producers to discuss Unforgiven. Paris was copasetic with these arrangements, unlike Randy, who wasn't the least bit fooled by Paul's attempt to keep him away from his girlfriend for the evening. Randy knew that Paul's meetings with the writers and the producers were merely his own way of cementing his position within the locker room and letting them know that, unlike the rest of the talent, he was a step above and not someone to be taken lightly. Paul always let the writers know that he intended to be in on all of his storyline planning and if he didn't like it, they had better make it so he did like it. The only time Paul ever bowed to the writers was on direct orders from Vince—which was why he even agreed to do the Goldberg job in the first place.

Randy also knew that it was totally unnecessary for he himself to meet with the writers so far in advance of a show. Despite his position in Evolution, Randy didn't get mired down in the backstage politics like Paul and Ric. He knew that all he had to do for his match at Unforgiven was listen to Shawn Michaels and follow his lead. Randy considered it a waste of time to meet with the writers—if they had something they wanted him to know, they would find him. But Paul insisted that Randy accompany him, and being in no mood to argue, the Legend Killer agreed, knowing he could spend time with Paris later. However, he lamented that it would not involve any intimacy since they were sharing a room with Paul. If only Paul hadn't insisted on him going to that stupid meeting, then there were a couple of hours he could have spent with Paris, free of Paul's company. How convenient that it happened that way. A little too convenient as far as Randy was concerned.

After dinner, Paris went back to the room while Paul and Randy went to their meeting with Kevin Dunn, Brian Gerwitz, and the others. Feeling bored, she called Amy, but only got her voicemail. She thought about calling her parents, but she wasn't really in the mood to hear one of Danny's lectures about responsibility. Deciding there was nothing else to do, Paris took a long, hot bath and crawled into bed where she fell asleep while flipping through channels.

She didn't even hear Paul and Randy come in a couple hours later, and at what seemed like an obscenely early hour, sunlight was already drenching the room and Paul was urging her to get a move on it, lest they miss their flight. Quickly, Paris showered, dried her hair, and got dressed. She noticed that Paul and Randy were both wearing jeans, obviously not standing on ceremony for the McMahons, so Paris followed suit. As she was putting some final touches on her make-up, Paul was practically pushing her and Randy out the door, grumbling that they were going boating, not to a beauty contest.

The flight this time was relatively short and they landed in Stamford right on schedule. Vince, Linda, and Shane met them at the airport and helped transfer their luggage to Vince's Cessna company jet, which would be flying them to the Vineyards. Paris got to meet Shane's wife, Marissa, who was not only beautiful, but extremely nice as well. Marissa apologized that she would not be joining them, but she was unable to handling flying and boating at this stage of her pregnancy. Paris noted that Stephanie and Shawn were nowhere to be found, and although Shane was his usual boisterous self and Vince was very amicable, Paris found Linda somewhat reserved. There were a couple of times on the flight that Paris even thought she saw Linda regarding her suspiciously, but pushed it away as her overactive imagination.

When they landed at the Vineyard airport, Vince had a car waiting to take them to the dock where his yacht was moored. Once they were at sea, Linda seemed to relax, and even sat down next to Paris, insisting that Paris give her the full rundown on what Danny and Tess had been doing over the last few years. During the conversation, Paris casually mentioned Stephanie's absence, at which Linda lamented that her daughter and Paul were no longer a couple. It wasn't that they didn't like Shawn, because Lord knows they did, but Paul was practically like a son to Linda and Vince and they were just particularly fond of him.

As it got closer to evening, Paris noticed that the normally mild September weather turned downright chilly, especially at sea. Excusing herself, Paris went down to the stateroom that she and Randy were sharing and began digging through her suitcase for something warm to wear. Sighing, Paris had to admit that her clothing wasn't really suited for harsher climates. She only had one light jacket with her and maybe a couple lightweight sweaters. If she was going to be traveling with the WWE throughout the winter months, she was going to have to write Tess to send her some appropriate clothing. But the more she thought about it, Paris didn't really have any winter attire, except for when she went skiing and that was more about looking the part than actually skiing or staying warm. In fact, she barely had any winter clothes at all. Paris had lived her entire life in Las Vegas where it hardly ever rained, much less snowed. Most of the traveling she had done with her parents was to tropical venues. This was definitely something she was going to have to fit into her budget.

Randy stuck his head in the room, wondering what was taking her so long. After hearing her dilemma, Randy reached into his suitcase and gave her one of his hoodies, which was several sizes too large on Paris, but warmer than two coats put together. Paris thanked him and they joined the others on deck where Vince was handing out glasses of expensive wine.

Figuring out the sleeping arrangements had been an experience. Randy smirked, thinking back to when they boarded the yacht and Shane very cleverly but unknowingly put the kibosh on Paul's suggestion that the three men share a cramped stateroom that was really only intended for two people and allow Paris to have her own room. It was Paul's not-so-subtle way of trying to separate Randy and Paris once again, thus furthering his own cause. Of course, Shane was oblivious to Paul's hidden agenda and expressed how stupid it was when they were supposed to be relaxing that he, Randy, and Paul should have to be crammed together when it was apparent to everyone that Randy and Paris were a couple, so why shouldn't they share a stateroom? Naturally, Paul had to bite his tongue and go along with the Boy Wonder's suggestion, not wanting to look too suspicious or too upset over the turn of events, but Randy knew better.

The next morning, Vince was up bright and early getting the boat moving once again. They had a very pleasant day, anchored in a small cove, with the men all trying to teach Paris the fine art of deep-sea fishing, but when it came time to clean the fish, Paris declined and joined Linda and Vince for a cocktail, while Paul, Shane, and Randy got out the equipment to brave the cold water for some scuba diving. Linda had been relatively friendly since breaking the ice yesterday; however, Paris couldn't shake the feeling that on the few times she caught Linda looking at her, the McMahon matriarch seemed to be regarding her with mistrust. Paris didn't know what it was, but as hard as she tried to dismiss it, she couldn't completely ignore it. Maybe Linda was just fond of Randy and was unsure of Paris' intentions where the young superstar was concerned.

Vince was entirely different from his wife, although Paris had her reservations about him as well. Several times on the two-day trip, Paris had caught Vince staring at her, much like Linda, but without the skepticism. And it wasn't as if he was looking at her lasciviously or even flirtatiously—nothing like that. There was just something Paris couldn't put her finger on. His eyes seemed to soften when he looked at her, almost as if he was looking at her with…pride. Paris couldn't understand it, so she resigned herself to stop dwelling on it. She, of all people, knew that the fabulously wealthy tended to be somewhat idiosyncratic, even eccentric to a point. Perhaps Vince and Linda McMahon's fascination with Paris was just one of their eccentricities.

Early Friday morning, they docked back at Vineyard's Haven and Vince's driver took them to the tiny, picturesque airport where the company Cessna flew them back to Stamford. After thanking Vince and Linda for their hospitality, Paris, Randy, Paul, and Shane flew to Nashville for the beginning of the weekend house shows. Paris was disappointed once again that the cruise had offered no chance for her to get any closer to Randy in the biblical sense. Randy, on the other hand, didn't seem all that worried about it. When Paris tried to talk to him on the flight to Nashville, he simply brushed her off, saying that it wouldn't have been polite on the boat and it definitely wasn't the right time or place with so many people in such close proximity. Paris accepted his explanation, but she was getting all too familiar with this drill and was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her.

The weekend seemed to fly by with a house show on Saturday in Knoxville, Tennessee and another one on Sunday in Asheville, North Carolina. As was the case from time to time, the RAW roster was barely crossing paths with the SmackDown stars, who were in Virginia all weekend for house shows in Roanoke and Richmond. Before any of them knew it, Monday had arrived once again and it was time for RAW in Columbia, South Carolina.

When they got checked into their hotel, Amy expressed that she wanted to get to the Carolina Center early. Paris, Dave, and Randy agreed, knowing that the red headed diva was extremely nervous about her return to active television after 16 months of being injured. On the feminine side of things, Paris understood that Amy, who usually wasn't vain or obsessed with her looks, wanted to get to hair and wardrobe as quickly as possible to make sure that she looked just so for her return. When they got to the Carolina Center, Amy went to find Shane, while Paris stopped to visit with Trish for a while and then, went to the catering room to start marking scripts. Usually, Paris did this in the locker room, but Paul was having his ritualistic pre-show meeting with Evolution and Paris just wasn't in the mood to listen to his macho pep talk.

Paris was moving right along, making good headway on the script when she saw something that really bothered her. Apparently, Randy was going to attack Fabulous Moolah tonight and give her an RKO. What bothered Paris was not only that Moolah was a woman, but also that she just happened to be 80 years old. Paris immediately rose and hurried out of the catering room, ignoring a rude comment from Rob Van Dam, who she had just run into in her haste. She headed toward Evolution's locker room to find out exactly what the hell was going on.

"Hey," Paris greeted, entering the locker room.

"Hi, baby," Randy said as he stood up and gave her a kiss. "What's up? You have that stressed/furrowed brow look about you."

Paris held up the script. "Randy, what is this shit? I mean, who writes these scripts?"

"What's wrong, babe?"

"They have you giving Fabulous Moolah an RKO tonight."

Randy shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

Paris was appalled by his lack of concern. "Randy! She's 80 years old!"

"Paris, I'm a professional. It's not like I'm gonna hurt her or something."

Paris gaped at him, still in shock, before placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Paul, whom she knew had influence over the scripts. "I just don't like it," she stated matter of factly.

"Honey, it's the nature of the business. It's entertainment, OK?" Randy assured her.

"So it's entertaining to watch a 23 year old guy beat up an 80 year old woman?" Paris asked, somewhat sarcastically.

Randy shrugged, her words sinking in. He wasn't overly thrilled with the storyline himself, but before he could respond, Paul stepped into the conversation.

"Paris, Vince pays Moolah and Mae Young a lot of money to do these spots. It's comic relief," The Game explained.

"Oh, I see," Paris retorted. "So not only is it entertaining, but it's funny to see an 80 year old woman get beat up? How amusing—I forgot to laugh."

"She's not really getting beat up," Paul stated, keeping his patience in check. "It's supposed to make the fans hate Randy more, push the whole Legend Killer image."

"Well, I still don't like it," Paris shot back.

"You don't have to like it, Paris," Paul told her, arrogantly. "And neither does Randy, but he's gonna do it just the same because it's his job and he's an entertainer."

Paris was about to continue the debate when Amy stood up and interjected herself. The diva could tell that Paul and Paris were both on the verge of getting angry and it wouldn't do well for Paris to piss Paul off at this stage of the game (no pun intended).

"Chill out, Paris," Amy urged. "I mean, someday Vince is probably gonna be dragging me out of mothballs for the same thing—hopefully not, but you never know. Paul's right—Moolah and Mae are well compensated."

Dave suddenly stood up and grabbed Amy flirtatiously. "Even when you're 80, you'll still be the Queen of Xtreme, honey."

"Oh, thanks, baby," Amy said as she kissed her large boyfriend, prompting Randy, Paul, and Paris to roll their eyes with mock disgust.

Amy glared at them before changing gears. "Paris, wanna help me pick out my costume?" Maybe it was best to just get Paris out of there before her well-intentioned passion turned into a full-blown argument between her and Paul.

"Fine, whatever," Paris sighed as she threw the script on the table and followed Amy out of the locker room.

"Don't be so cranky," Amy told her as they made their way to wardrobe.

"I can't help it," Paris replied. "It's just not right. Those poor old ladies probably need the money—that's why they keep doing all these stupid and dangerous spots. And Paul just has to be so goddamn arrogant about it, like 'this is how it is, Paris, and Randy's gonna do it whether he likes it or not.'"

Amy smiled at not only Paris' mocking of the Cerebral Assassin, but at her misguided compassion regarding Moolah and Mae. Then, the extreme diva's smile changed to musical laughter as she explained things to her irritated friend.

"First of all, Paris, Moolah and Mae don't need money—they're both millionaires. They keep doing this because they love it—they love the spotlight. Second, don't ever let either one of them hear you call them 'poor old ladies.' To quote JR, they're both tougher than a $2 steak. So don't stress, OK? Randy knows what he's doing and so does Moolah."

"But Randy has the potential to be as popular as The Rock," Paris went on. "I don't understand why they want people to boo him."

They entered wardrobe and greeted Colleen, before they began picking through diva costumes.

"You didn't answer my question?" Paris said, not looking up.

"I didn't know you asked me one."

"I don't get it—why do they want Randy to be bad?"

Amy smiled and held up her arms in perfect imitation of Randy's Legend Killer character. "Because he's the Legend Killer. He's the bad boy—and you love it, you little slut—admit it!"

Paris finally broke a smile, which quickly turned to laughter. "I guess you're right," she said. "I get the Legend Killer and you get the Monster of Evolution."

"See, it's just playing a part. Dave's no more a monster than Stacy Keibler is."

The girls were silent for several minutes, continuing to dig through the costumes. Every now and then, Amy would grunt with disgust or utter a couple oaths whenever she came across something Spandex. Finally, the redhead broke the silence.

"Paris?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what Paul's plans for you on our days off are, but if he doesn't have any, you wanna go to Raleigh with me?"

"Sure—that's where you live, right?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"SmackDown's there tomorrow and I promised Dawn I'd go, but I don't want to run into Matt alone. He has this way with me that…"

"Say no more—I'll go." The last thing Paris wanted was for Amy to have to deal with Mr. Personality 2003, Matt Hardy. Paul would have to understand.

"I told Dave I was going and he wanted to go with, which I didn't think was a good idea. I mean, Matt's a jerk and everything, but I know he's just hurt that I broke up with him. I don't want to rub it in his face that I'm with Dave."

"Why not? He deserves it."

"I know, but it's better this way. Dave suggested that I ask you to go…"

"He doesn't trust you?"

"I don't know if I trust myself. I mean, I love Dave, but it's so soon. I know he'll just try to manipulate me or guilt trip me or something—Matt, I mean."

Paris couldn't understand why Amy, who was the strongest, most extreme woman she knew, couldn't find a way to stand up to Matt Hardy? But it wasn't for Paris to judge. Her friend needed her and Paris was always there for her friends, despite what Amanda might think.

"Well, Matt Hardy ain't gonna manipulate me into anything. I won't let you do anything—well, you know."

Amy smiled. "Thanks, Paris."

"So SmackDown's in Raleigh tomorrow—where are they tonight?"

"Eastern Carolina University. Lucky Dawn—a whole campus full of boys. Do you like these pants? I wanna look just right tonight." Amy held up a pair of funky camouflage cargos.

"They're OK, but these are hot," Paris said, handing Amy a pair of black cargos with hot pink and zebra-striped patches.

"Ooh, yeah—I think I have everything," Amy replied, adding the pants to the pink mesh shirt and purple tank top she was holding. "We better go—I gotta change."

The girls went back to Evolution's locker room and Amy got ready for her spot just as the show started. Paul as Triple H threw Goldberg a going away party, indicating that Trips assumed he would be victorious at Unforgiven. Randy did his spot with Moolah and then, got a huge bitch slap from Shawn Michaels in a backstage scene, involving Randy, HBK, and Maven. As everyone predicted, Moolah was uninjured and even hugged Randy, saying it was the most fun she'd had in a long time. Randy wished he could have said the same about his scene with HBK. Shawn was big on realism and Randy's cheek was still stinging from the slap even after the scene was finished.

"Jesus Christ!" Randy exclaimed, holding his cheek after the camera stopped rolling. "That freaking hurt!"

Several wrestlers were watching the scene and laughing good-naturedly at the young superstar, including Shawn Michaels. The crowd in the arena was still oohing and aahing at the loud crack that resonated through the sound system when Shawn's hand had met Randy's face.

"I told you I wasn't gonna hold back," Shawn said, smirking.

"You never do," Randy remarked, checking his face in a nearby mirror. The red imprint of a hand still stood out on his smooth skin.

"Don't worry, pretty boy," Shawn teased. "I didn't scar you permanently—that'll come at Unforgiven."

"Here, Randy, this'll help," Paris said, handing him an ice pack to put on his cheek.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Oh, good grief—an ice pack, Orton?"

"Thanks, baby," Randy said, copping a feel on her butt as she helped him hold the ice pack against his stinging face.

"And you," Paris shouted jokingly, pointing accusingly at the Heartbreak Kid. "I will not have you abusing my boyfriend, thank you very much!"

Shawn grinned, reminiscent of the old HBK, and put his arm around Paris. "Then, how will you have me?"

Paris' mouth fell open at Shawn's innuendo. After all, he was a very religious man. Obviously, he liked to have fun as well.

"I think you need to cool off, HBK," Paris retorted, grabbing Randy's ice pack, opening the bag, and attempting to dump the contents down the front of the Heartbreak Kid's tights.

However, Shawn was quicker than she anticipated and deftly blocked her efforts, causing most of the ice to spill on the floor and only a few cubes actually got to their intended destination.

"Shit, that's cold!" Shawn yelled, trying to fish the ice out of his pants. "And you—you're mine!!"

Paris saw the look in his eyes and took off in a dead run as HBK chased her with a huge bottle of cold water that he grabbed off of a table. Randy, Maven, Hurricane, and Rosey followed, not wanting to miss any of Shawn's revenge on Paris.

Of course, Paris locked herself in the diva's locker room and refused to come out until Shawn promised he would be a good boy, but only after Paris threatened jokingly to report his undignified behavior to his fiancée, Stephanie McMahon.

The rest of the show went well with Amy making her return as Lita and saving Trish from a double team by Molly Holly and Gail Kim. The show ended with Goldberg trying to beat up Triple H, but Trips was too quick and took off before Goldberg could deliver any punishment.

It had been a long day and the tired superstars headed back to the hotel, passing on going out. Everyone was just too tired, even Amy, who was just coming off the exhilarating high of her successful return. Paris talked to Paul about going to Raleigh with Amy and he said that he didn't need her during his days off, so it was perfectly OK with him. After Raleigh, the girls were going to St. Louis to spend a couple days with Randy and Dave.

The next morning, Randy and Dave flew to St. Louis, Paul flew home to Greenwich, and Paris went to Raleigh with Amy. Secretly, Paul was disappointed that he wasn't going to be spending any time with Paris. He had thought about making up some phony story that she had to go to Connecticut with him because he needed help answering his E-mail or something like that, but he figured that Orton was so suspicious and possessive at this point, he didn't want to push the envelope. He and Paris had never had a chance to talk about their kiss in Fort Lauderdale, but they had been getting to know each other better, finding out what made each other tick. Paul was discovering that Paris could be pretty feisty when she wanted to be, especially after she got all riled up about the whole Moolah incident. He had also heard that she outsmarted Shawn Michaels during a water fight backstage and Paul better than anyone knew that it took a special person to get the jump on HBK. But he digressed. There would be plenty of opportunities to spend time with Paris. He just had to be patient.

Later that night, Paris and Amy were at Amy's condo in Raleigh getting ready to head to the arena for SmackDown. Paris was wearing hip hugger jeans and a white blouse while Amy wore black cargo pants and a pink T-shirt that said 'Diva' on it. Paris was doing her make-up, sharing the bathroom mirror with Amy, when she decided to ask her friend about something that had been bothering her. They had been gossiping about some of the WWE divas all evening—nothing cruel or malicious, but just idle gossip like girls did when they got together. Paris had been wondering something about a certain diva and decided to ask Amy what was up.

"Hey, Ames, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How come Stacy never goes out with us?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Her boyfriend."

"She has a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Test. I mean, Drew—Andrew Martin, the guy she works for. They've been together for like two years."

"So does he like not let her go out or what?"

"He gets kind of jealous. He used to be friends with Jay and Lance and Adam Copeland and Chris—the whole Canadian Mafia thing, but he just quit hanging around them. I guess him and Jay got in a fight one night because Jay said Stacy was cute and Drew got all pissed. Now, he just hangs around Sean Morley all the time."

"But isn't Sean Morley in the Canadian Mafia, too?"

"Well, kind of. He's friends with Drew and Lance, but he hates Adam, so he and Jay don't get along very well, and Chris…well, Jerky gets along with everyone."

"Why does he hate Adam?" Paris queried.

"Well, Adam used to be married to Sean's sister, Alannah. They split up while he was injured and they're divorced now. I guess Adam cheated on her a lot, but she wasn't innocent either."

Paris nodded, but didn't respond. The girls were silent for a couple minutes, continuing with their primping. Paris didn't know why she was so concerned about her appearance. It wasn't like she was out to impress Matt Hardy or anything.

"Paris, my turn to ask you a question and I'll warn you now—it's personal."

"Shoot."

"Have you screwed Randy yet?"

"No—how about you and Dave?"

Amy shook her head.

"Why not?" Paris prompted.

"We're taking things slow, but I think after I see Matt and get some closure, I'm gonna do it—Dave, I mean."

Paris snorted. "I wish I had it so easy."

"What do you mean?"

"I've flirting with Randy left and right, practically sticking it in his face—and nothing."

"Well, he knows you're a virgin. Maybe he just wants to make sure you're ready."

"But I am ready."

"So tell him that."

Paris paused, hesitating about whether she should tell Amy what was on her mind, what she had been torturing herself about for the past week.

"There's something else."

"What?" Amy inquired, her eyes wide with interest.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course, bitch—tell me."

"Paul kissed me."

Amy's hazel eyes got even wider. "What! When?"

"In Lauderdale."

"So…how was it?" Amy urged, wanting all the juicy details.

Paris smiled slightly, then frowned. "It was…amazing, but I love Randy."

"Have you and Paul talked about it?"

"No, not yet. Do you think he likes me?"

Amy exhaled sharply. "It sure sounds like it. Either that or he just wants a piece of ass, which knowing Paul, I'd lean toward the latter."

Paris agreed, deciding to end the discussion about Paul right there before she got any more confused. She and Amy finished getting ready and after some last minute preparations, hopped into Amy's SUV and drove to the RBC Center for the show. Dawn had left backstage passes for both of them, Amy having called ahead to tell her old ECW friend that Paris would be joining them. Amy and Paris went straight to the diva's locker room, where they chatted with Dawn, who was very excited to see both of them, as well as Torrie and Nidia. Paris noticed a sexy blond woman in the locker room, who looked a little older than the others. When she walked by, she stared at Paris and Paris said hi, but the woman ignored her and left the locker room. The other divas explained to Paris that that was Rena Mero, also known as Sable, and she was a bitch, so not to be too heartbroken at the snub or to take her rudeness too personally.

Amy and Paris left the divas and went to the 'Green Room' to watch the show. They hadn't seen any sign of Matt and he wasn't wrestling on the card either. Dawn was in Torrie and Nidia's corner as they faced a tall African American woman named Shaniqua. Amy explained that Shaniqua's real name was Linda Miles and she had won the second Tough Enough along with Jackie Gayda. However, according to Dawn, Linda had a little bit of an ego and wasn't very well liked by the other divas. Rumor was that she was going to be sent back to OVW shortly. Also on the card, Charlie Haas and Shelton Benjamin lost the tag titles to Eddie and Chavo Guerrero, and Brock Lesnar won the WWE title from Kurt Angle in a 60 minute Iron Man match. Amy informed Paris that Kurt was having problems with his neck again and needed some time off to have it looked at, so that's why he was jobbing the title to Brock, who was far less talented than Kurt.

After the show, Paris and Amy went to get a soda while Dawn and Torrie got ready. Paris had briefly been able to talk to Stephanie for a few minutes before the harried SmackDown GM had to run off and put out some proverbial fire with one of the employees. Stephanie took off, waving at Paris and promising they would talk soon. The plan was that Amy and Paris were going to a club in Raleigh with Dawn, Charlie, Shelton, John Cena, Torrie, and her husband, Billy Kidman. Finally, Paris was going to meet this John Cena that she had heard so much about and had missed last time she visited SmackDown. Not only did Amy mention him on a regular basis, but he was also one of Randy's best friends from back in the OVW days and he lived in St. Louis, as did Charlie Haas, who was also friends with Randy and Dave.

Paris and Amy had just got their sodas and were about to go meet up with Dawn when a mocking voice behind them got their attention.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't SkankFest 2003," the sarcastic voice of Matt Hardy droned. He was staring at them with a disgusted, almost contemptuous look on his face.

Amy cleared her throat. "Hello, Matt."

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Visiting Dawn. You gotta a problem with that?"

He didn't answer, but instead, turned his attention to Paris. "What's she doing here?"

"What does it concern you why I'm here?" Paris shot back. God, she didn't like him. He and Rob were two peas in a pod.

Matt smirked. "Orton and Trips give you the night off, Paris?" he said in an insinuating tone.

Paris rolled her eyes. "Go to hell, Matt."

"So I guess you haven't heard the good news?" he went on, chuckling.

Paris arched an eyebrow. Like she cared about any news he had to offer.

"Your dick shriveled up and fell off so the only Hardy reproducing will be Jeff?" Paris prompted, sarcastically.

"Ha—very funny. They're moving me to RAW."

Amy blinked, surprised by this turn of events. Just what she needed—Matt running around underfoot while she was trying to get something started with Dave.

"When?" the Queen of Xtreme asked.

"I don't know—sometime in November, I think."

"Well, I hope you don't think that changes anything," Amy told him pointedly as Paris smirked.

"I might take you back if you beg," Matt offered with a shrug.

Amy snorted with impatience. "You know that one song by Aerosmith? The one called Dream On?"

Matt snickered once again. "On the other hand, I don't think I want Evolution's sloppy seconds."

Amy glared at him, incredulous that he was being so rude. "You know what? I actually thought seeing you again was gonna be hard, but I was wrong. Fuck off, Matt."

With that, Amy turned and walked past him, followed by Paris. However, Paris didn't get very far because Matt grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"This is all your fucking fault!" he hissed in her ear.

"Let go of her, Matt!" Amy said angrily.

Suddenly, a good-looking guy wearing denim shorts, a hockey jersey, and a backwards baseball cap walked up. Paris was so busy checking him out that she almost forgot about Matt and his grip on her arm.

"Is there a problem here?" the man asked with concern.

Matt glared at him. "No, no problem. Keep walking, Cena."

So this was John Cena, Paris thought. Not bad, not bad at all.

"Then, let go of the lady's arm, dawg," Cena requested.

Matt seemed to be mulling this over for what seemed like forever. Deciding that Paris wasn't worth the drama of getting into it with Stephanie's golden boy, he reluctantly released her arm.

"I'm not your dawg," Matt stated flatly, walking off before John could reply.

"You OK?" Cena asked, turning to Paris.

"Fine, thanks."

"John, this is Paris Ocean—she's a travel coordinator and my best friend. Paris, this is the Doctor of Thuganomics himself—John Cena."

Paris smiled and shook his hand. "So where'd you go to medical school?"

John gave her a strange look and then, caught on to her joke. He grinned flirtatiously. "Thug University. Why—you need an examination?"

"You're Randy's best friend from OVW," Paris commented. "He told me about you."

"You know RKO?"

"He's my boyfriend."

"Lucky him. Damn, mama, you are hot! I mean, HOT!"

Paris laughed. So what if he was being a little chauvinistic—he was being charming at the same time, in a thuggish sort of way. "Thanks, John, I think."

"I'm sorry—I gotta be polite. Gotta impress Dawn, you know."

Amy looked up, surprised. "Dawn? What about Katie? You know, your girlfriend in Louisville?"

John shook his head. "Aww, don't get me started on Katie, girl. She don't know which way is up these days. Besides, I just like to flirt with Dawn. You know, mess with her a little bit."

"You and Katie break up?" Amy questioned.

John snorted. "Today? No, but who knows what'll happen tomorrow. Gotta love LDRs."

"LDRs?" Paris said, puzzled.

"Long distance relationships," John clarified. "You sure you're not a diva, Paris, cuz you are hot. Orton don't deserve all this."

Amy rolled her eyes and sighed. "John, enough. Let's go—Dawn and Torrie are waiting."

Amy, Paris, and John met up with Dawn and drove to a local club on the west end of Raleigh where they met Charlie, Shelton, Torrie, and Billy. Paris missed the name of the place, but Amy seemed to be familiar with it and greeted several people as they walked through the club. They had a good time with John dividing his flirting between Dawn and Paris. Charlie managed to corner Paris and give him the third degree about Jackie. Paris told him that she was no longer with Jindrak, but didn't know if there was another man in her life at that time. Charlie seemed optimistic and even said he might call her. Stephanie stopped by for a quick drink before rushing back to work, as did Kurt Angle, Chris Benoit, and Big Show. Show had Paris laughing so hard with all his jokes and impressions that she almost fell off her chair. They stayed until closing and then, John drove them home since he was sober. After dropping them off, he left with Dawn to go back to the hotel with promises to Amy that he would be a good boy and remember that he had a girlfriend. If Cena wanted to be with Dawn, that was fine as far as Amy was concerned, but he owed it to Katie to end things with her first. Amy didn't know if that was what was going to happen, but the outlook wasn't good.

The next day, Paris and Amy took an afternoon flight to St. Louis and arrived there by early evening. Randy and Dave picked them up at the airport and they all went out to dinner and had a few drinks. Paris suggested to Randy that they go home, since she was tired and it was quite obvious that Amy had other intentions toward Mr. Batista that did not include Paris or Randy. Dave was very pleased that Amy had gotten closure with Matt, although he wasn't pleased about Matt's eminent migration to RAW. But there were other more important matters at hand. Dave and Amy left the club right behind Randy and Paris, but they only had eyes for each other. The Monster of Evolution seemed to be picking up on the redhead's aforementioned plans for the evening and Paris had a feeling that Amy and Dave's relationship was about to go to that next level that very night.

Paris' hopes of attaining that level with Randy were becoming a more and more distant hope. The harder she tried, the more he pushed her away. Paris was flattered that he respected her that much, but her appreciation was wearing thin as his excuses grew more tedious. Over the next two days as they got ready to leave for their next weekend of house shows, Paris began to wonder if 'it' was ever going to happen with Randy. And the more she wondered, the more Paul Levesque's face entered her thoughts.

She was tired of playing games…with all of them.

**Boring chapter but had to build some groundwork. You know the drill—please read and review. Should I stop? Thank you to justagirl8225, tempest-races, shinebright-starlight, angel40689, Cleo Orton, emily, MrsRKOrton, jaded-whisper, paris, and des1 for all the sweet reviews—thanks so much. Love ya all.**

**-----Evilution**


	19. Closer

Chapter 19 – Closer

By Evilution

Disclaimer: You know the routine—I own nothing, except Paris and Amanda.

On Friday afternoon, Paris flew to New York with Randy, Dave, and Amy, where they were meeting up with Paul to begin the weekend of Unforgiven. There was no house show on Friday night, but they did have a show in New York City on Saturday night, more of a warm-up for Unforgiven. While they were on the flight, Paris was able to convince Dave to trade seats with her so she could get the dirt from Amy about their night together.

"So Miss Lita," Paris teased as she sat down. "There's no point in denying it because I can tell that you and Dave hooked up—the question is, how was it?"

Amy smiled, flipping her red hair over her shoulder. "Sorry, Paris, but I don't kiss and tell."

Paris narrowed her eyes and laughed with disbelief. "Whatever, bitch—don't even think about holding out on me. I want all the details."

Amy continued to smile. "What can I say? It was great. I mean, I haven't been with anyone except Matt for so long—I guess I just forgot how to be spontaneous and crazy, you know?"

"I wish I knew," Paris sighed.

"Still nothing from Randy?" Amy asked with empathy. She didn't understand what Randy's hang-up was with Paris' virginity, but she knew that if he didn't seal the deal, her blond friend was on the verge of becoming even more frustrated and angry. And then, there was Paul Levesque to think about. Obviously, he was lurking in the wings, just waiting for something to go wrong between Randy and Paris, for whatever reasons he had. Amy knew that one thing was for sure—if Randy didn't act soon, he was risking losing Paris forever. And Paul would be only too happy to step in, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

Paris shook her head, but didn't respond. Every time the subject of she and Randy having sex was brought up, it immediately put her in a bad mood. She didn't know what to do. She had tried to be intimate with him on numerous occasions, and all he did was come up with excuse after excuse. She was tired of it. Every time she looked in the mirror and truly looked inside herself, she couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, why Randy didn't want her. She was smart, pretty, and fun—any guy would be happy to have her as his girlfriend. So what was the problem? And it wasn't as if she wasn't a good girlfriend. She was always there for Randy when he'd had a tough match, offering to rub his back or just listen if he wanted to talk. She always laughed at his jokes and complimented him. Of course, he did all these things for her as well and then some. He was almost the perfect boyfriend—almost. It was just that when it came to consummating their relationship, Randy faltered and never with a good explanation as to why. The more she dwelled on it, the more depressed she became, so Paris decided to change the subject and steer the conversation back to Amy and Dave.

"Well, I'm really happy for you guys," she told her red headed friend. "I knew from the moment I got to know you that you deserved so much better than Matt Hardy."

"It's kind of unnerving sometimes," Amy replied. "Dave treats me like a princess. He holds the door for me, he holds my chair out for me, everything. When we were having sex, he even made sure that I ….you know, first."

Paris smirked. "I take it Matt never did?"

"Well, it wasn't like he never did—I guess he just never paid attention or was sensitive about it like Dave was. But there is something—it kind of freaked me out at first."

"What?" Paris was intrigued at the thought of something freaky about Dave.

"It's really weird—I shouldn't say anything.

Paris glanced over at Dave, who was deep in discussion with Randy. He didn't look like a closet pervert, but then again, you never could tell. "Just tell me," Paris urged, trying not to sound too curious.

Amy leaned close and whispered. "He has a piercing."

Paris blinked. There had to be more to it than that. Paris had nine piercings in her ears, not to mention her nose, tongue, belly button, and nipple, so it wasn't really a big deal to her. She didn't see why Amy was so tripped out. After all, she was the Queen of Xtreme and she had not only her huge dragon tattoo on her arm, but a small one on the inside of her bottom lip.

"So, he has a piercing—let's alert the media."

"Down there," Amy hissed as she pinched Paris' arm and pointed downwards.

"Oww," Paris whined, rubbing her arm. "He has his belly button pierced?" Paris had seen Dave without his shirt on numerous occasions and he did have a tattoo around his belly button, but she had never noticed if it was pierced or not.

Amy rolled her eyes impatiently. For all she tried to act worldly, Paris really was naïve sometimes. "A little lower than his belly button."

"Oh," Paris said, nonchalantly, still not getting it. Then, suddenly, it dawned on her what Amy was talking about. "OH!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Down there?"

"Yeah, down there."

Paris peered over at Dave, studying him intently, as if she could tell that he had any of his private parts pierced just by looking at him.

"Is it like a Prince Albert?" she asked, turning to Amy.

"Yeah, I think so. It's just a barbell through the tip."

"God, that had to hurt."

"Well, you have your nipple done, you tell me."

Paris shrugged. "Mine didn't hurt that bad. So what was it like? Does it make a difference during sex?"

"It felt kind of weird, but really good. And he says it makes him last longer. He told me that I should get my nipples done, but I like tattoos—I'm not really into piercing. I told him you had one of yours done."

"And what did he say?"

"He wants to see it, but he said Randy would probably get mad. Dave used to work in a tattoo place—he was learning how to pierce, then wrestling came along. But like I was saying, it was really weird. I could feel it the whole time. It really got me off."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't know—I guess it threw me for a loop. I didn't know someone could turn me on so much. With Dave, it never stopped—it was over and over and over again. Plus, he's very well endowed if you know what I mean, which only added to it."

Paris glanced over at Dave once again, as if she was trying to see his more private, physical attributes through his clothing. This time, Dave caught her staring, and smiled, causing her to blush and look away. Paris got the feeling that he knew exactly why she was staring at him.

"Well, if you ask me, you have nothing to complain about. At least, you're getting sex, which is more than I can say for some of us."

"Come on, Paris—it's gonna happen. You just need to be patient."

"I'm tired of being patient."

"Did you ever think that maybe Randy's the one who isn't ready? Maybe this whole thing is going a little fast for him. You guys just met not even a month ago."

"Come on, Amy—he's Randy Orton!"

"Oh, so he's supposed to be this sex machine, just because he's Randy Orton? I hate to break this to you, but from what Dave's told me, I don't think Randy's quite the player he pretends to be or that everyone thinks he is. I think you need to stop dwelling on this. I bet if you stopped obsessing over it, it'd just happen."

"You think?" Paris was skeptical, but Amy never lied.

"I know," Amy assured her.

Paris opened her mouth to respond, but the pilot suddenly made the announcement that they were landing, halting any further discussion on the subject. Paris knew that Amy was right, but she couldn't help feeling jealous of her friend—simply because Dave wanted Amy wholeheartedly, and Randy didn't seem to want her at all. The more she thought about it, the more her thoughts drifted to Paul. Now, there was somebody who wanted her. It was almost enough to convince her that she wasn't the problem where she and Randy were concerned. After all, why did Paul want her and Randy didn't? Maybe Randy was the issue, not her.

By the time they got their luggage, drove to the hotel, and got checked in, it was already dinnertime. They met up with Paul and had dinner at a nice, rather eclectic restaurant before making plans to go out. As much as she regretted it, Paris decided to stay in for the night. Randy was clearly disappointed that she didn't want to go out, but she encouraged him to go have fun with his friends and Amy. He tried to change her mind, rationalizing that they wouldn't be able to go out tomorrow night because they had to be rested for the pay per view, but Paris stood her ground. She was tired and cranky and didn't want to deal with a crowded New York nightclub. Randy finally relented and giving her a kiss, went on his way with the others, while Paris returned to the hotel. After taking a long, hot bath, Paris called Tess to see how things were back in Las Vegas. Imagine her surprise when her mother informed her that she was on her way to New York as they spoke for an art auction Saturday afternoon. Paris made plans to meet her mother for lunch the next day before bidding her goodnight and crawling under the covers. Randy, Dave, and Amy came in late, trying in vain to be quiet. Then, as Randy lay snoring next to her, Paris was treated to the sounds of Dave and Amy, who unknowingly thought Paris was fast asleep, tried unsuccessfully to have sex without making any noise. Sticking her head under the pillow, Paris was finally able to block them out enough to fall asleep.

The next morning, Paris was the first one up and had already showered and dressed before the others began to stir. Randy and Dave were both tired and a little hung over, but it was Amy, who complained grumpily that she felt like shit and was never drinking again.

"God, stop being so damn perky!" Amy shouted as Paris skipped to the window and opened the drapes, allowing the sunlight to flood the room.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Princess," Paris mocked good-naturedly. "I figured since you kept me up half the night getting your freak on…"

"I was NOT getting my freak on," Amy retorted.

"Yeah, right—I'm not deaf…or stupid, OK?" Paris told her.

"Face it, babe—we're busted," Dave said, smiling.

"That's just gross," Randy commented. "God, have some respect for your roommates, why don't you?"

"Like you heard anything, Orton…you were passed out practically before you hit the bed," Dave shot back.

"Hey, I woke up briefly and heard someone moaning incoherently, so I figured it was best that I just block it out and go back to sleep."

"Moaning incoherently?" Paris teased. "Must have been the Prince at work again."

Dave's mouth fell open as he stared at her, knowing exactly what Paris was referring to. He glanced at Amy. "You told her about…"

"Of course, I told her—she's my home girl."

"Who's the Prince?" Randy asked confused as Dave blushed a dark red.

"Remember a couple months ago when I was telling you about that piercing I wanted to get?" Dave asked the Legend Killer.

Randy's eyes got wide and he shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't?"

Dave nodded as Randy's face twisted into an expression of extreme pain and anguish.

"Oh, dude…dude, that just ain't right. God, Dave, are you serious? Tell me you didn't!"

"Amy likes it and that's all that matters," Dave replied.

"It's really not a big deal," Amy put in.

"Not for you," Randy told her. "You're not a guy!"

"You should get one, Randy," Dave suggested. "It makes you go all night."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Randy stated as he jumped up and hurried to the bathroom, leaving Paris, Amy, and Dave laughing uproariously.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to embarrass you, Dave," Paris said.

Dave glanced at Amy and then, grinned at Paris. "I'm not embarrassed. You wanna see it?"

"No, that's OK. I'm good, really."

"I'm just messing with you," Dave said, teasing. "You know, of course, that if I show you mine, you have to show me yours." He pointed at her chest, continuing to smirk.

"Really, Dave, that's OK," she remarked, glancing at her watch. She had just heard the water go on and realized Randy must have jumped in the shower. "Shit—I'm late. Will you tell Randy I'm having lunch with my mom? She's in town for an art show—I'll just meet you at the arena."

The couple nodded before turning back to each other as Paris dashed out the door, silently pitying Randy and the fact that he would probably exit the peace of his shower to walk in another love fest between Amy and Dave. Lucky him—maybe it would give him some ideas.

Paris took a cab to a nearby café that was one of her mother's favorite New York lunch spots. Naturally, she was late and Tess was already waiting for her. Paris embraced her mother, remembering the feeling of safety and security she always felt in her arms. Any passerby could easily mistake them for a couple of old college friends, being that Tess didn't look anywhere near old enough to have a twenty-year old daughter. They sat down and ordered before both Paris and Tess launched into a full rundown of the past few weeks in both their lives. According to Tess, business was good at the casinos and the art galleries in particular were doing very well. Danny was still courting investors for his new dream casino, Babylon, but had run into setbacks with the Nevada Gaming Commission. The problems at the Mirage were only getting worse and Tess feared that Danny would have to sell that particular casino just to get out from under all the stress and politics. There was also a rumor that the Stratosphere was going up for sale soon, and Danny was definitely interested in that, knowing that it could probably produce equal or more capital than the Mirage, and it would get his foot in the door on the other end of the Strip. Next, it was Paris' turn to fill Tess in on what she had been doing with the WWE. She explained her role as a travel coordinator, told Tess about all her new friends, and let her mom know that there was a man in her life.

"A man?" Tess asked, taking a sip of her Chardonnay.

"He's really sweet and really, really cute," Paris said, smiling.

"Is he a wrestler?"

"Yeah, he is."

"Your father's not going to like that."

Paris sighed. The subject of her relationship and issues with Danny had been strangely omitted from the entire lunch, but now, as they were waiting for dessert, the topic was apparently going to rear its ugly head.

"Why not?" Paris questioned, a tad snappishly.

"Because he sent you out here to learn a lesson, Paris—not to meet boys. And I hate to say this, but you know what your father is going to say. He loves Vince like his own brother, but that doesn't mean he approves of everything Vince does."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean wrestling has always been kind of an…unsavory venue, to say the least," Tess explained. "It was always theatrical—Vince is a very theatrical person, but now, it's like watching a soap opera mixed in with a three-ring circus. And, honey, not to discredit this boy you're seeing, but those wrestlers…they probably have a different woman in every town."

"Why is it that neither one of you can stand it when I'm happy?" Paris cried, becoming upset. "I'm enjoying myself here—I'm learning a lot and I'm meeting all sorts of really great people. I could maybe have a career in the WWE—who knows? But I'm sure Dad will find a way to ruin everything!"

"Sweetheart, we only want what's best for you. You're going to inherit a lot of money some day and…"

"I don't want your money!" Paris exploded, prompting looks from several neighboring diners. Tess smiled apologetically for the disruption.

"Paris, lower your voice," Tess whispered

"No, I won't lower my voice! What, Mom? Are you worried some of your art friends might be here? It's always about appearance, isn't it?"

"Paris, that's enough…"

"No! You don't get it, Mom. I'm not a little girl anymore! I'm not some little doll that you and Dad can dress up how you want and mold me into being this casino mogul! I don't want the casinos; I don't want the paparazzi; I don't want the politics; I don't want any of it! I wanna make my own way in the world. All that money sure hasn't made you and Dad any happier, has it? And it sure hasn't made you any more satisfied with me! Nothing I ever do is good enough! No one I ever date is good enough! I'm sick of it!" By now, Paris was sobbing uncontrollably. "I don't need any of it! And you're wrong about Randy! He doesn't have a woman in every town! He only has me, and that's enough for him! He's happy with me just the way I am!"

She didn't know if she was trying to convince her mother or herself of that last part, but there was no way she would admit to Tess that anything was less than perfect.

Tess blinked in the wake of Paris' tirade and tossed her napkin onto the table.

"I see," she said, somewhat emotionally. "You think you have it all figured out, don't you? Did we not do enough for you, Paris? Did we not give you everything you ever wanted? A car on your sixteenth birthday, trips to Cancun for Spring Break, parties in the Hamptons? We didn't give you all those things so you could throw it away to become one of Vince's bimbos and some wrestler's plaything?"

Tess was angry now, and the restaurant patrons who had stared at Paris earlier were now glancing in Tess' direction. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, wiping away the tears of frustration that threatened to spill out of her brown eyes and mar her otherwise flawless make-up. Paris immediately felt a pang of guilt and regret that she had snapped at her mother. It wasn't Tess' fault that Danny was a stubborn, control freak. They had only wanted to give Paris what they didn't have, what Danny had worked so hard for, sometimes legally and sometimes not. Paris was sorry she had upset her mom, but there were times that she got so sick of Danny's rhetoric coming out of Tess' mouth. She longed to know what her mother was really like, what she was like before she became Mrs. Danny Ocean. Did she ever have opinions or ideas of her own? Paris truly wondered because all Tess ever did was echo Danny's thoughts and dreams. Did she ever have any dreams of her own? What was she like when she was with Terry Benedict? Paris always heard all the legends about Danny, but what about Tess? Would she ever figure out what made her mother tick? She resigned herself that today probably wasn't going to be the day that she came to any earth-shattering revelations about her mother. It was a crowded New York café and they both had other places to be. Still, Paris could not completely dismiss how distraught Tess had become particularly when she had mentioned Vince. Paris could have sworn she detected some sort of resentment in her mother's voice when she spoke about the WWE owner, and obviously, Tess didn't hold Vince's business in very high regard, but as to why, Paris didn't know.

"Mom, the WWE's not like that. It's like a big family and, except for a few bad apples, we all get along and help each other. Most of the wrestlers are married and have families—they don't have a woman in every town. It's just not like that."

"I just wanted more for you. I mean it's OK if you don't want the casinos to be your career—but your father will never allow you to have a career in the WWE."

Paris snorted with frustration. "Then, why in the hell did he send me there?"

"He thought that it would help you appreciate how lucky you are if you were able to see that kind of a life."

"Jeez, why didn't he just send me down to hang out with the hookers on the Strip?" Paris retorted.

"Paris, be serious!"

"I am serious! Why did he pick this place? Why the WWE, of all places? There are worse places to work than here—a lot worse. He could have sent me to McDonalds or Burger King or…anywhere. Why here?"

"Because he saw the path you were on, Paris. He knew that you were headed for a career in entertainment, whether it was acting or modeling or just being a socialite. He knew that was where it was going, what with all the jet setting and the paparazzi and the excess. He couldn't very well throw you into the middle of Hollywood or the modeling business, so he chose a field of entertainment that he was familiar with because of his relationship with Vince."

Paris slammed her hand on the table in frustration. "But why? That still doesn't explain why he chose the WWE?"

"One field of entertainment is just like the next! It's harsh and it's cold and it's damaging to your self-esteem and your heart. Look at the showgirls, Paris. Look at how many of them make it and how many of them climb on a bus in tears…or worse. I'm sorry that you don't think we did well by you, but we were young and we did the best we could. You're our only child, Paris. All we did was love you."

Once again, Tess wiped a tear from her eye with her napkin. Sighing, she removed a gold case from her Louis Vuitton purse and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply.

"When did you start smoking again?" Paris asked, worried.

"It's only when I'm stressed," Tess replied, waving her hand dismissively.

Paris didn't respond, but she couldn't help notice the worry etched on her mother's face. Tess finished her wine and her cigarette without commenting any further. Rising, she glanced at her Cartier watch, stating that she had to get to the art auction.

"Look, Mom, I'm sorry. I'm grateful for everything you and Dad have given me. It's just that…I don't know…I like it here. I'm happy and I'm in love. Does that count for anything?"

Tess smiled and touched Paris' face. "Let's not discuss it anymore, OK? You have the right to get angry and I respect that. I'll call you when I get back to Vegas, after we've both calmed down a little bit. I know you have a busy weekend with the pay-per-view."

"Mom, I don't want you to leave mad…"

"I'm not mad, sweetheart. I love you, OK?" Tess hugged her daughter tightly.

"I love you, too, Mom," Paris said, clinging to her mother. God, now she was crying again.

"Here, this is for you, and I want to hear more about this young man when we talk again, OK?"

Paris looked down and Tess had pressed a one hundred dollar bill into her palm.

"I can't take this, Mom."

"Yes, you can. Buy something nice for yourself or go do something fun with your boyfriend, OK?"

Paris nodded, fighting the tears as Tess kissed her lightly on the cheek and then, turned and rushed away, her heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk. There was nothing more for Paris to do except go back to the hotel. Flagging a cab, she climbed in, the tears finally spilling over. The cab driver asked if she was all right and she smiled weakly, waving him off.

At the hotel, Paris discovered that everyone had already left for Madison Square Garden. She was so emotionally drained from the lunch with her mother that she did something she wouldn't normally do. She called Shane's cell phone and told him that she was sick. Tonight was just a warm-up for Unforgiven—she didn't really think Evolution needed her anyway. Shane confirmed that this was probably the case, but that she should probably call Paul, Randy, or Dave to let them know. He also told her that he had booked some ring time after the show at Randy's behest so that the Legend Killer and HBK could rehearse for Unforgiven since theirs was such an important match. Shane had hoped that Paul and Goldberg would rehearse as well, but it was unlikely that Goldberg would show up, so it was up to Paul to carry the match as usual. Paris thanked him and Shane bid her goodnight, hoping that she felt better. Then, she called Randy and got his voicemail, where she left a message that she was OK, but she had a headache and an upset stomach, and that he didn't have to rush back to be with her since he had already made plans. She knew that rehearsals were important, especially for a pay-per-view, and she didn't want him standing on ceremony for her and all of her neuroses where her parents were concerned. Randy had enough to worry about, not just his match with Shawn, but also his upcoming Intercontinental title reign. She assured herself that Evolution was fine without her for one night and she decided to take a hot bath and order some room service before turning in early.

Paris had just gotten out of the tub and was towel drying her hair, when there was a knock at the door. Crossing the room, she hoped that it was someone she knew since she was only wearing one of Randy's Evolution T-shirts. Peering through the peephole, she saw Paul standing in the hallway. What the hell was he doing there? He was supposed to be at the arena.

"Paul?" she remarked, opening the door.

He strode into the room without being invited. "You better have a damn good excuse for not showing up tonight."

"I didn't feel good, OK?"

"You don't look very sick to me."

"Look, Paul—I had a really shitty day and if you drove all the way back here just to yell at me, you're wasting your time because I really don't care at this point." Paris ran her hand through her hair as two tears slid down her face.

"Paris, this is serious! I had a ton of shit I needed you to do! I have two weeks worth of E-mail to go through, my voicemail is full—if you don't take your responsibilities seriously, maybe I need another coordinator!"

"Maybe you do!" Paris shot back just before she burst into tears.

Paul sighed and put his hands on his hips as Paris buried her face in her hands and started sobbing uncontrollably. It wasn't his intent to make her cry. He thought she was just slacking off, but now that she was standing in front of him crying, Paul did something that was alien to him—he felt bad.

"Paris…stop crying, OK? I didn't mean it—you're the best coordinator we have, I wouldn't dream of replacing you."

This caused Paris to wail even louder.

"Shit!" Paul muttered before stepping forward and taking Paris in his arms. Her entire body was shaking and her chest racked with sobs. She clung to Paul as if she was lost in the desert and he was water. Paul smoothed her damp hair, wondering why she was so upset. He had a feeling that there was more to it than just his tirade about her job performance.

Suddenly, Paul felt her slump against him as her knees buckled. With little to no effort, he scooped her up in his arms and sat down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and held her while she cried piteously against his huge chest.

"Ssh, it's OK," Paul soothed, stroking her hair and face. "I'm sorry, OK? I'll never yell at you again."

"It's not that," Paris gulped. "It's just been a really bad day."

Paul scooted her off of his lap and rose from the bed. "How about if I get you a drink of water and a towel to wipe your face and you can tell me all about it?"

Paris nodded as Paul went into the bathroom and returned a few moments later with a glass of water and a cold washcloth. Paris wiped her face and then, at Paul's urging, related the story about lunch with her mother to the Cerebral Assassin. Paul listened intently, surprised that her parents were so hard on her. His dad was his best friend and his mom was his favorite confidant. He couldn't imagine not getting along with his parents. They were the only two people in the world that he trusted. It baffled him that Danny Ocean's only logical reasoning for sending his daughter to the WWE was simply because he didn't want her to get involved with acting or modeling. That struck him as strange. There had to be more to it than that. But what? Paul sensed from her words that Paris seemed confused by the whole thing as well, but she loved her parents and she trusted them. She only wanted to please them without totally losing herself in the process.

After Paris finished pouring out her story, Paul reassured her that her parents were just overprotective because she was their only child and they didn't want to lose her. Their opinions about the WWE were simply due to ignorance and perhaps some long ago disagreement with Vince was resulting in festering resentment about one thing or another that probably was none of Paris' concern, but was something private between Vince and her parents. Once Danny and Tess realized that Paris was truly happy, Paul didn't doubt that they would support her in whatever she chose to do. Paris secretly wondered if maybe Paul was right—maybe there had been some drama in the past with Vince or whoever and maybe it had something to do with how Linda had acted on the cruise.

Luckily for Paris, Paul wasn't one to let her sit around and feel sorry for herself.

"OK, I think that's enough being sad over things you have no control over," The Game told her as he stroked her cheek. "You can't control how people treat you, Paris—and that includes your parents. But you can control how you let it affect you."

Paris nodded, knowing that he was right, but not quite ready to snap out of her pity party. Paul noticed this and being that she was a girl, decided to indulge her. He smirked inwardly, knowing that his performance tonight was Oscar-worthy, and undoubtedly, had won him some major points, which in the end, would further his cause with the bet. After all, where was Randy when she needed him?

"What do you say we call room service and order like cheeseburgers and milkshakes and stuff I'm not supposed to have and we'll just drown your sorrows in junk food and a movie?"

"I could handle that," Paris said, finally breaking a smile. But just as quickly, she shifted gears and grew serious once again. "But what about Randy and everyone? I should maybe see what his plans are for tonight."

Paul shrugged casually. "Suit yourself, but they're gonna be at MSG for a while. Shane blocked some ring time after the show tonight so everyone can rehearse for tomorrow. And I hate to say this, but against HBK, Randy needs all the rehearsal time he can get."

"What do you mean?" Paris inquired. Shane had told her about the rehearsals, but as usual, it seemed as if Paul had some additional insight.

"Oh, nothing," Paul said as he nonchalantly perused the menu by the phone. "It's just that Shawn gets his kicks making other people look bad. It's his colossal ego. I told Randy to stay on his toes so that Shawn doesn't make him look like an idiot."

Paris' brow furrowed. That wasn't the impression she had of Shawn Michaels. He always seemed willing to help out where he could and give the younger guys advice. But she knew that there were issues between Paul and Shawn that ran deeper than anyone understood, so she decided to change the subject.

"Well, Randy did say that they never go out the night before a pay-per-view, so I might as well stay here anyway. I'll have a cheeseburger with everything but onions and an extra thick shake, Martin and Lewis." She grinned at Paul as she jumped off the bed and went into the bathroom.

"That means vanilla," Paris called, sticking her head around the corner of the bathroom door.

Paul had the phone at his ear and he gave her a withering glance. "I know what Martin and Lewis means, Princess—'Pulp Fiction' is one of my favorite movies and it just happens to be on Direct tonight."

"Can we watch it, please? I love that movie!" Paris bubbled as she skipped back into the main room and hopped on the bed.

Paul nodded as he repeated their order into the phone and then, grabbed the remote control so he could pull the movie up on Direct.

"Hey, Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"We gotta act out the dance scene like I always did with my friends. I get to be Mia and you can be Vincent, OK?"

Paul smirked. "OK, but let's skip the heroine overdose tonight. I don't have any cardiac needles with me to plunge into my date's heart when she overdoses."

"Is this a date?" Paris asked as they both leaned back on the headboard.

"Ssh, it's starting," Paul admonished her, but when Paris looked at him, the corners of his mouth were turned up in a slight smile. Obviously, he was amused by her playful naiveté.

"Well, is it?" Paris urged.

Paul pretended to be annoyed. "You have a boyfriend. Ssh, watch the movie."

About an hour later, Randy, Dave, and Amy walked into the hotel room only to be greeted by the sound of 'Se La Vie' blasting from the TV. Paris and Paul were dancing on the bed just like John Travolta and Uma Thurman were on the TV screen. Irritated, Randy flicked the TV off as Dave looked on, confused, and Amy giggled behind her hand.

"What the hell is this?" Randy exclaimed, sounding thoroughly pissed off.

Paris had jumped in surprise when the TV had turned off and now, she was staring at Randy with wide eyes, a look of trepidation on her face. It was obvious that he was mad—he was standing there glaring at them with his hands on his hips, but they had just been dancing—it wasn't like anything else had happened. Randy's blue eyes narrowed with mistrust as his gaze flickered between Paris and Paul. Paul met his teammate's eyes and stared boldly back, almost challenging him to say something. The air was thick with tension, so much so that Amy and Dave both began to shift uncomfortably.

"Randy, I didn't expect you this soon," Paris said, as Paul stepped off the bed and held her hand so she could climb down.

"Obviously," the Legend Killer shot back with sarcasm as he eyed Paul touching his girlfriend in what seemed like a proprietary manner. "Exactly what the hell is going on here?"

"Amy, maybe we should say goodnight," Dave suggested, gently taking the diva by the arm. Amy was completely riveted to her spot, enthralled with the drama, but the light yet firm pressure of Dave's hand on her elbow jolted her out of her trance.

"Yeah, I'm really tired," the redhead stated, followed by a very fake stretch and yawn. Dave rolled his eyes as he escorted her out of the room, whispering that he really didn't think the others bought her act.

"Well, I'm waiting," Randy snapped as the door shut behind their two friends.

"For what?" Paul said, smirking sardonically.

"I wasn't talking to you. I thought you were sick, Paris!"

"I am," Paris stammered. "I mean I was. I…I got into a fight with my mom at lunch and it was just a really bad day, so I called Shane. I didn't think you guys needed me and he told me about the rehearsals…"

"So that's why you bailed on me and Dave, right, Paul?" Randy interrupted, glaring at Paul in an accusatory fashion. "When you heard Paris was sick, you rushed off to the hotel because you knew she was here alone, right?"

Paul's eyes flashed angrily. "Look, Orton, I don't know what you're getting at, but I don't appreciate the accusations, OK? I came back here because I had a ton for her to do tonight and I was more than a little pissed off that she didn't show up. When I started yelling at her and she dissolved into tears, I knew something was up. So excuse the fuck outta me for caring! Here I thought you were my friend, you little fuck, and you go and suspect me of trying to get with your woman! Real pathetic, Orton!" He turned to Paris, his voice softening somewhat. "Paris, goodnight and I hope you feel better tomorrow, OK?"

With that, he turned and exited the hotel room, slamming the door in his wake and leaving both Paris and Randy in stunned silence.

"Well, that was real nice of you," Paris sniped at Randy, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "All he was doing was being my friend!"

Randy snorted with disbelief. "Don't tell me you bought that 'cry me a river' bullshit that he just fed us?" When Randy saw that she did indeed believe it, he shook his head ruefully, giving her an incredulous look. "That just goes to show how little you know Paul."

"I think you owe him an apology."

"I owe him shit, Paris. I think it's you who owes me an explanation."

"Randy, there's nothing to explain! I had a fight with my mom, I was physically drained, all I wanted to do was go to bed. I couldn't have drug my ass to the Garden if I wanted to! I called Shane and he told me you'd be rehearsing late. Then, Paul showed up and started yelling at me. I started crying and he felt bad, so he listened to the whole story about my mom and then, we had something to eat and watched TV—no big deal."

"What was the whole dancing on the bed thing?"

"That's just something that me and my friends do at that part. It was just a joke, OK? Please don't be mad—I'm too drained to handle another fight."

Randy hesitated, but then, took her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, still angry with Paul, but willing to forgive Paris for her naiveté. "I just got jealous, OK? Especially since Paul doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. He'd nail you or Amy in a heartbeat and wouldn't even care that me and Dave are his friends—that's just how he is."

"But he was being so sweet and…"

"Paris, everything Paul does is for a reason. Look, I know that you want to believe the best about everyone, but all I ask is that you be careful where Paul's concerned. He's my friend and everything, but I don't trust him and neither does Dave. He didn't become The Game by looking out for other people. He looks out for number one and only number one—understand?"

Paris nodded, somewhat sadly, as Randy lifted her chin between his finger and his thumb. She parted her lips slightly as he kissed her deeply. She didn't want to believe that Paul had ulterior motives toward her, and she wasn't 100 sure that she did believe it, but there was always that feeling when she was with Paul—that feeling that there was something to fear and then afterward, there was the guilt. Guilt that she had shared intimate moments with Paul that Randy had no knowledge of. Guilt that Paul had an effect on her that she couldn't explain.

"I really am sorry," Randy said after breaking the kiss, jolting her out of her brooding.

Paris smiled, not wanting to fight. "I'm sorry, too. I should have called and talked to you instead of just leaving a message, or I should have let you know I was feeling better and that Paul was here. No more secrets, OK?"

Randy agreed, silently kicking himself for keeping the biggest secret of all—the bet. He hugged Paris tightly before ducking into the bathroom to take a shower while Paris put the bed back together and tidied the room up. Paul's little self-righteous display didn't fool Randy in the least. It was just his way of trying to look innocent, like he was just being nice and Randy jumped up in his shit for nothing, thus making Paul look like an angel and left Randy looking like an asshole. But Randy was determined that Paul wouldn't win. He had to make Paris trust him and make her see that Paul was only out for himself, no matter how solicitous he tried to act. That's all it was—an act.

That night, Paris tossed restlessly while Randy slept soundly next to her. The whole scene with Paul left her questioning herself even more. She wasn't stupid—she knew why Randy was angry. He was jealous because Paul wanted her, and Randy wasn't an idiot—he knew that Paul wanted her. Randy also knew, or at least Paris figured he had to know, that she was getting frustrated with his cold shoulder when it came to sex. Maybe he was worried that she would get fed up and decide that Paul could give her what he wouldn't. Nevertheless, Paris resigned herself to the fact that Randy was being extremely immature about the entire situation. Maybe flirting with Paul wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe a little healthy male competition was just what Randy needed. Maybe Randy needed to be aware that other men were interested in Paris in ways that he didn't seem to be. Paris just hoped that she wasn't flirting with disaster—or worse, danger.

The next day, Paris flew to Hershey, Pennsylvania with Randy, Dave, Paul, and Amy for Unforgiven. Everyone seemed to be in an upbeat mood, excited about the pay-per-view. Randy and Paul managed to be civil, regarding each other with cool indifference. Dave wasn't on the card since he had not yet made his return to TV, so when they got to the Giant Center, he decided to tag along behind Paris while she ran various errands for Randy, Paul, and Ric. Of course, Dave was never one to sit still for very long, so while Paris was sifting through Paul's E-mail on his laptop, Dave got bored and said he was going to find Amy and help her warm up for her match. He cocked his eyebrow suggestively at Paris, prompting her to roll her eyes and wonder exactly what kind of warm up he had in mind with the red-headed diva.

The show went extremely well. Randy defeated Shawn Michaels in what could only have been called a contender for Match of the Year. Both superstars gave everything they had and the match further cemented Randy's reputation as the Legend Killer. Contrary to Paul's comments, Paris never observed one moment in the match where Shawn tried to make Randy look foolish or stupid in any way. If anything, the Heartbreak Kid did what he was paid to do, and that was over a younger star. Amy and Trish tagged up to defeat Molly Holly and Gail Kim, much to Paris' delight as the travel coordinator had learned early on that she didn't like Gail Kim in the least and the pretty Korean wrestler felt the same way about her. Kane defeated Shane McMahon in a brutal Last Man Standing match, leaving Paris to hope that this was her boss' last foray into the ring for a while and he could concentrate on running RAW and being a father. Al Snow and Coach, who Paris found very funny, defeated King and JR to become the RAW announcers. And of course, Goldberg the Untalented defeated Paul for the World title.

After the show, Paris was in Evolution's locker room with Randy, Dave, Amy, Trish, Chris, and several others when Paul came storming in and told everyone to get out, everyone but Evolution. Grumbling slightly, the rest of the RAW roster filed out of the locker room as Paul started in on a tirade about how unfair it was that he had to job to Goldberg. Amy, who was pretty much considered part of Evolution and thus, had not left with the others, rolled her eyes and announced that she had to go to the bathroom. The door slammed as the extreme diva exited the locker room, choosing to take the high road rather than listen to Paul's rhetoric yet again. Dave rubbed his temples, trying to block out the same oratory that he and Randy had been listening to for weeks. Randy simply shrugged, not really knowing what to say, being that this was about the 594th time he had heard it. The only ones who seemed to be listening to Paul with rapt attention were Paris and Ric. No one was really surprised that Paul was in such a foul mood. Randy had mentioned that he was always cranky when he had to job 'his title' and this time it was worse because he considered Goldberg far beneath him.

Paul finally finished ranting and it was Dave who broke the silence.

"So what do you want us to do about it, Paul?" Evolution's Enforcer inquired, somewhat impatiently.

"Do?" Paul snarled. "I don't want you to do anything and you know why? Because both of you are useless anyways. I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries and actually expect you two to act like you're members of the most elite group in wrestling. I mean, come on, Dave—we're supposed to be a team, but you're so goddamned worried about whether Amy's gonna win the Women's title and Orton's too obsessed with who might be trying to fuck his girlfriend this week!"

"Fuck you!" Randy shouted. "I don't need to listen to this shit!"

"Yeah, and what the fuck do you expect me to do?" Dave shot back, angry. "I'm not even cleared to wrestle on TV yet, so the get the fuck outta my face, OK?"

"Gentlemen, please," Ric interjected, trying to play the mediator. "Paul's just a little upset over this Goldberg thing—he doesn't mean to take it out on you guys, right, Champ?"

Paul glanced back and forth between Randy and Dave, a look of utter contempt and slight hurt on his face over what he viewed as their betrayal, as their abandoning him when he needed his team the most.

"Whatever," the former World champion said, disgusted. "I just hope you two get your heads out of your asses before Armageddon in December. It's gonna be pretty interesting trying to convince the fans that we're this dominant group that's gonna take all the gold with you two acting like a couple of pussies!"

Randy snorted with disgust. "Like I said, I don't need to listen to this shit! Let's go, Paris."

Randy shouldered his bag as Paris gathered up her purse and several pages of script that she had been reading for tomorrow night's RAW in Washington DC. Randy opened the door and Paris began to follow the Legend Killer when Paul's voice stopped them.

"Where do you think you're going?" Paul demanded.

Paris thought he was talking to Randy, but apparently that wasn't the case as he was staring right at her.

"Umm…back to the hotel," she replied, somewhat timidly.

"There's been a change of plans," the Game informed her. "Vince is already in DC for RAW, so I got my flight changed to tonight. I need to get to DC and get some reassurance from Vince that this fluke of title reign is temporary and that the title is back around my waist at Armageddon. He's the only one who can give me some answers about this whole Goldberg fiasco and I want it in writing!! I shouldn't have lost that fucking title tonight! Did you hear the fans? They were actually booing when he pinned me! What a crock of shit!"

"So what does that have to do with Paris?" Randy asked as he stepped aside, allowing Amy to reenter the locker room, where she sat down next to Dave.

"Paris is going with me," Paul stated, knowingly.

"No fucking way!" Randy exploded.

"Randy…" Paris began.

"Stay out of this, Paris!" Randy snapped. "I know what you're trying to do and it's not gonna work!"

"What? What am I trying to do, Orton?" Paul challenged. "Last time I checked, Paris was my travel coordinator and I'm telling you that I need her to go to DC with me tonight. I want someone to witness my meeting with Vince and I have some other things that I need taken care of as well." His eyes glittered menacingly, daring Randy to dispute him, even though his words were dripping with innuendo.

"Excuse me, but Paris isn't your coordinator, she's Evolution's coordinator, and maybe I need her services tonight," Randy pointed out.

Paris blinked, trying to dismiss the fact that the whole argument over who was going to get her 'services' for the night sounded a bit sleazy to an outsider.

"Sorry, Orton—I know Paris is your little girlfriend and all, but my business needs take precedence over your…needs."

"We had plans tonight," Randy argued.

"Plans can be changed," Paul said, dismissively. "Maybe we should ask Paris what's more important—her job or a night of partying with you, which she can do anytime?"

Randy swallowed hard, forcing the bile in his throat back down into his stomach. He knew exactly what Paul was trying to do, but he couldn't come out and say it in front of everyone, especially Paris, so he decided to take a different angle.

"Look, Paul, you're just pissed off about Goldberg and you think that by making Paris go to DC with you tonight, you can piss me off and make me feel as bad as you do right now—am I right?"

Paul smirked but didn't answer.

"You know, Randy's right," Amy said, sensing the tension. "It is bullshit that you lost. Why don't we all fly to DC tonight and Paul, we'll take you out, get you shit-faced, and by 2 AM, you won't even remember who Goldberg is, OK?"

Paul chuckled softly. "I appreciate you trying to play the peacemaker, Ames, but I already covered that. See, I knew how Orton would react, so I made sure that I checked if there was room on the flight for all of us, and there isn't. There were only three seats available—for Shane, Paris, and me. But I did check, OK? I'm not the ruthless bastard you all seem to think I am."

"We didn't think that," Dave and Amy both murmured, one slightly after the other as Paul grinned evilly at Randy, once again making the young Legend Killer look like he was the one being the prick to all their friends.

"Of course, we didn't," Paris added, giving Randy a somewhat reproachful look. "Paul, if you need me to go to DC tonight, I'm there, OK? Work is more important than fun. Randy, you and I can celebrate your win tomorrow, OK?"

Inside, Randy was absolutely seething with impotent rage that Paul had once again made him look like an asshole in front of Paris. He decided that rather than look any more foolish than he already did he would have to take the high road and concede. Running his hand through his hair, he swallowed hard, hating Paul with every fiber of his being.

"Sure, baby," he said, giving Paris a kiss on the cheek. "If Paul needs you to work, I won't stand in the way of your paycheck. I know you have bills."

"See," Paris said, hugging Randy. "He understands, so you can quit fighting and we can all be friends."

Over her head, Randy glared icily at Paul, a silent warning that if he dared try anything in DC, it would be the last thing he ever did.

After finalizing their plans, Amy and Paris rode back to the hotel with Evolution. However, it was a short stop for Paris and Paul, who only took the time to pick up their luggage and then, headed to the airport. Paul pretended to be annoyed that Paris took an extra long time kissing Randy goodbye, but in reality, he was merely amused. It was so easy to pull one over on his young teammate and the unsuspecting girlfriend. Although it was true that he had a meeting with Vince, it would only take maybe five minutes to get things settled and it could have even waited until morning. Nevertheless, Paul failed to let Paris in on this information. Once he had Vince taken care of, he had all night to seal the deal.

It took a lot of rushing, but they were on the plane and in the air by ten o'clock. Since Shane had arranged for first class seats, Paul took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with Paris.

"Sorry to ruin you and Randy's plans," he said apologetically.

"It's OK—really, Paul. Work comes first. Gotta earn money, you know."

"I appreciate the good attitude. I'll pass it on to Vince."

Paris smiled, gazing at Paul, trying to unravel the mystery.

"Paris?" he said, garnering her attention once again.

"Yeah?"

"All that time we spent together last night and we never discussed Lauderdale.  
"No, we haven't."

"I guess now that you're Randy's girlfriend, there's really no point."

"Paul, what happened in Lauderdale…"

"Was a mistake," he stated, finishing her sentence for her.

"I encouraged it," Paris said, not meeting his eyes.

"And I should have known better," Paul replied, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I won't apologize though. I enjoyed it too damn much."

Paris laughed, blushing slightly. "Me, too."

"Our secret?" Paul smiled, holding up his pinkie. "I mean, shit, Orton already thinks that I'm this lust-crazed animal who can't wait to get him out of the picture, so I can revert to my more basic instincts and ravish you on the hood of a limo, or something like that."

Paris hooked her pinkie with his. "Hmm, that sounds like fun," she teased. "But back to our agreement—our secret."

Paul nodded and lightly kissed her hand as she shook pinkies with him. Paris couldn't deny that the touch of his lips on the back of her hand sent shivers up and down her spine. What the hell was it about this man that turned her into a weak-kneed, blithering idiot and made her want to act like a wanton jezebel?

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for listening last night and I'm sorry that Randy reacted the way he did. There's been some tension between us in case you hadn't noticed."

Paul shook his head, dismissing her worries. "It was my pleasure. And don't worry about Orton. He's young and insecure—he knows he's got something good and he doesn't want to lose it, but he doesn't quite know how to handle it. And as for the tension—is there anything I can help with?"

"No, not really. It's kind of something that needs to work itself out."

Paul nodded in understanding and the rest of the short flight was full of idle chitchat. By the time they landed in DC, it was past eleven o'clock and Paris was exhausted. She barely remembered picking up her bags at the luggage check or riding to the hotel. Their room was a double suite with two beds, one for Dave and one for Paris and Randy, and an adjoining room, which Paul occupied. Seeing how tired she was, Paul told Paris that she could skip his meeting with Vince if she wanted and go straight to bed. Paris tried to protest, stating that the meeting was the reason she flew to DC with him tonight in the first place; otherwise she could have stayed and went out with Randy. Paul apologized and told her that her joining him wasn't a total waste because he needed her up bright and early to handle some errands for him in the morning. Paris finally conceded and Paul went to meet Vince alone, leaving Paris feeling as if she had been played a little bit in some macho tug of war between Randy and Paul. She didn't want to think that Paul lied about needing her in DC to separate her from Randy, but maybe he had. Maybe he had a thing for her and this was his way of letting Randy know that he wanted Paris and he was prepared to play dirty if he had to. Paris smirked as she climbed into the shower, somewhat angry yet flattered by the fact that Paul seemed to want her badly enough that he would lie to get her away from Randy. Maybe it was time to let the games begin.

After a quick shower, Paris climbed into bed and it seemed like she was asleep before her head even hit the pillow. She wasn't sure if it was five minutes or an hour later, but she was awakened by someone gently stroking her hair. She sensed a presence, that she wasn't alone in the room. Turning over, she noticed that the lamp was on and she was staring into Paul's dark eyes as he sat on the bed watching her.

"Paul?" she began.

"Ssh," he said as he leaned over and captured her lips in a hard, demanding kiss.

Paris wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her as his hands explored her body and his tongue gently probed her mouth. Paul pushed the covers back, revealing her entire body, clad only in a lavender satin nightgown, as she feverishly undid the buttons on his Armani shirt and spread her hands across his massive chest, pushing the shirt onto the floor.

Paul broke the heated kiss and trailed his lips down her jaw line to the sensitive hollow of her throat. Paris moaned as his tongue gently licked her skin, igniting little flames on the surface. Paul tried to push the sleeves of her nightgown down over her shoulders, but was met with resistance by the unyielding material. Paris gasped as both of his hands gripped the collar and tore the thin garment in half. Now, she was completely naked, lying beneath him, her eyes practically begging him to take her.

Paul wedged his knee in between her bare thighs, parting them with his hands and placing her legs firmly around his waist. Kneeling over her, he pulled her towards him and pressed against her so she could feel how badly he wanted her, how aroused he was. Paris arched her back, rocking against him wantonly. Paul smirked—this was going to be easier than he thought. He reached up and began teasing her silver nipple ring with one hand and with the other, he began to gently probe between her legs. Paris tensed at his first touch, but seemed to relax as he lowered himself next to her, melding his lips to hers once again as his hand remained firmly in place. Paris gasped and at his urging, opened her legs further as he pushed one finger and then, another inside of her.

Paris began to slowly move along with him as his hand thrust in and out of her. Paul lay next to her, whispering in her ear, asking her if she liked it, telling her how hot she was, how tight she was, and occasionally capturing her lips for another kiss. He was excited almost beyond control and for the life of him, couldn't fathom what the hell Orton was waiting for. He couldn't imagine having this woman lying in bed next to him every night for the past three weeks and not fucking her senseless. But he knew what Orton was doing. It was his teammate's vain attempt to get out of the bet. Randy figured that if he could get Paris to trust him enough, he could break the news to her about the bet and hopefully, she would forgive him. Then, they would make love and live happily ever after. All past indiscretions with Paul would be forgotten and he would become just a memory in their blissfully happy love life.

So if they were so fucking happy, then why was Paris lying next to him with her legs spread practically begging him to fuck her? Paul smirked, as he felt a flood of warmth cover his hand. Paris gasped once again before turning towards him and bringing her lips to his. Paul pulled her roughly against him and kissed her hungrily before pushing her back onto the bed and pinning her hands above her head. Kissing his way down her body, he stopped momentarily to tease each nipple before trailing his tongue across the flat plain of her stomach, where he tugged insistently on her navel ring. Releasing her hands, which she began running through his soft hair, Paul grasped her hips and pulled her toward him, where his tongue began to tease her relentlessly in a place that she knew she shouldn't be letting him go. As his tongue touched her, Paris arched violently, her nails raking the sheets so hard she thought they might snap off of her fingers. But that didn't stop him. He continued to probe and tease until Paris was thrashing wildly, screaming his name, a thin sheen of sweat covering her quivering body.

Smiling, Paul placed a kiss on the inside of each of her thighs as she gasped for air, her rapid breathing slowly returning to normal, as he rose up over her, his dark eyes locking with her stormy violet ones. He gazed down at her, smirking triumphantly, pleased that he had already made her come twice and they hadn't even had sex yet.

"Did you like that?" Paul whispered, his voice low in the back of his throat.

"Mmm hmm," Paris moaned, still not able to speak.

"Does Randy make you feel like that?" he asked quietly.

"No," Paris whispered, barely audible.

"I didn't think so," Paul said, smirking.

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"This is wrong—we have to stop."

"Don't you think it's a bit late for that?"

"I…I don't care," Paris said as she struggled to get up. "I can't do this to Randy."

She grabbed her robe off the chair and pulled it on as Paul lay back on the bed gazing boldly at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Paris, don't tell me Rob Van Dam was right. You're not some little cocktease, are you?"

"That's a really shitty thing to say…"

"No, what's really shitty is this hard on that you should be taking care of right now," he said with a sly smile.

Paris glared at him. "I'll go get you some hand lotion," she retorted as she attempted to storm off to the bathroom.

But she didn't quite make it. Paul leapt off the bed with the grace of a cat and caught her arm, deftly halting her exit and pulling her roughly against his muscled body.

"Not so fast, Princess. No one leaves me like this." He cupped her bottom seductively, pressing her against him, so she could feel exactly what he meant by 'this.'

"Paul, I don't want to, OK?" Paris insisted. "I know I shouldn't have led you on, but…"

"But what?"

"Look, I'm sorry, OK? I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't cheat on Randy."

With an impatient sigh, Paul released her. "What we did isn't cheating. Besides, are you gonna deny that there isn't something between us?" He sat down on the bed and ran his hand through his hair.

"No, I know it's there, but…I don't know. You're not gonna say anything to Randy, are you?"

"Now why would I do that and ruin the chance of this lovely scene happening again?" he replied sarcastically.

Paris rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Paul, I feel bad enough as it is. What can I do to make it up to you?"

Paul smiled lazily, circling his arms around her waist. "There are things you can do for me that will make me feel better, but you can rest assured that you're not cheating on Randy."

Paris sighed, knowing exactly what he was referring to. "Like a blowjob isn't cheating."

Paul snorted casually and leaned back against the headboard. "Well, it's the only way you're getting out of this mess."

"I thought you were my friend," Paris said, hurt that he was practically forcing her into something she didn't want to do.

"I am your friend—with benefits," Paul replied. "That's why were not going to the next level—not yet. Now, don't you want to make me feel as good as you do?"

Paris sighed once again as she climbed on the bed and knelt in front of him, praying that Randy never found out what she was about to do.

"Did you lie about needing me to fly here with you tonight?" Paris demanded.

"Of course not. I told you I have things for you to do in the morning. I did want you to go see Vince with me, but you were tired."

Paris nodded, temporarily but not completely mollified by his words. But she couldn't dwell on it—there were other issues at hand, namely what Paul wanted her to do at that moment.

"Can we turn the lamp off?" she asked.

Paul shook his head. "Not a chance. I wanna watch. Now, stop stalling."

With that, he twined his hand in her hair and lowered her head to his lap, where Paris fulfilled her end of the unspoken bargain that had arisen between them that night.

Half an hour later, Paul had gone back to his room and Paris stood in the bathroom, staring into the mirror, her eyes red with tears, her face a mask of self-loathing. Rinsing her mouth with water, she spit it at the mirror in disgust. God, what the hell was wrong with her? She was in love with Randy, yet only moments ago, she had given Paul a blowjob to pacify him because she had chickened out of having sex with him. Randy didn't deserve this and neither did she. Now, there was this bond, such that it was between her and Paul. As angry as she was, she still couldn't hate Paul. After all, he was a guy, just like any other guy, and she had teased him, which was wrong. She didn't know what it was about Paul, he had some sort of a hold on her that she couldn't explain. She had to stop dwelling on it. Randy was far away in Hershey, and she was here in DC with Paul, and they had fooled around—big deal. It wasn't as if she was getting any carnal pleasure from Randy. And so what if she had given Paul some oral gratification? It wasn't as if she had never sucked a guy's dick before. It was one of the things she could get away with without losing her virginity. And Paul had enjoyed it. But he was a guy—of course, he enjoyed it. And he came, too, which had been new to her as well. She had never gotten a guy off with just a blowjob before, so this was major. He wouldn't tell Randy, would he? Lord knows, she wasn't about to tell anyone, not even Amy. This was definitely major. But it was in the past. She loved Randy and that was all there was to it. She loved him more than life itself and what she had done wasn't wrong. It was just releasing some tension between friends.

The more she talked to her reflection, the harder and harder it became to convince the woman within.

**Please review—sorry it's so long. Love ya.**

**-----Evilution**


	20. An Offer She Can't Refuse

Chapter 20 – An Offer She Can't Refuse

By Evilution

Disclaimer: All characters belong to WWE—I only own Paris and Amanda. Also, I don't own any of the places mentioned, so don't sue.

The next morning, Paris awoke blinking back the sun that streamed in her window. The door to Paul's adjoining room was open, but as she cautiously peaked around the corner, she noticed that the former WWE champion was nowhere to be found. Sighing, she rubbed her temples as visions of the previous night came flooding back into her mind. Just as quickly, she pushed them away. What she had done was wrong, but it was also wrong that she had teased Paul. As far as she was concerned, last night had never happened. Paul had promised that he wouldn't say anything to Randy and Paris knew that she wouldn't be bringing it up any time soon. Crossing the room, she spotted her torn satin nightgown draped over a chair. Gasping, she quickly snatched it and stuffed it into her carry on. What if Randy had arrived early and seen it? How would she have explained that? She recalled last night that she had left it on the floor when she went to the bathroom. Obviously, Paul had put it on the chair. Did he do it for effect? She just had to wonder.

Turning back to the table, something else caught her eye. It was a note from Paul. Her eyes scanned the piece of paper and she shook her head. It was just like Paul—cold, impersonal, all business. Not surprising really. The note contained instructions that he needed her to drop off his dry-cleaning at a one-hour cleaners, pick up a few sundries for him at a Wal-Mart or something, and then, drive clear across DC for some cheesecake from a certain deli that he liked. He left her some money and the keys to a rental vehicle. Paris swore as she crumpled the note and threw it across the room. Like I know my way around Washington DC, ass clown! Sighing with disgust, she stomped into the bathroom to take a shower.

An hour later, she was standing in the lobby, holding Paul's dry-cleaning and waiting for a cab. She knew that a cab ride to all the places she needed to go would be expensive, but that was Paul's problem, not hers. She didn't know anything about DC, having only visited there once when she was like fourteen, so leaving her the rental car was pointless. Her first stop for the day was at a One Hour Valet where she dropped Paul's clothes off. Then, she went to Wal-Mart and instructed the cab driver to wait while she shopped. Next, he drove her clear across the city to get the cheesecake. And then, it was back to the cleaners to pick up the clothes. Lastly, Paris had the cab driver take her to the MCI Center where she told him to keep the meter running while she went inside to get his fare. Paris noted with perverse pleasure that the meter had run up to over two hundred dollars!

Paris entered Evolution's locker room, hoping that Paul was at least there, or she was gonna have some major explaining to do to the cabbie. Paul was sitting on the couch, reading his script. He glanced up as she entered, his gaze briefly flickering over her as he returned to his script. Paris looked around as she hung up the dry-cleaning and set the other items on the table. Apparently, Randy, Dave, and Amy hadn't arrived yet.

"I need you to go pay for the cab," Paris remarked, nonchalantly.

"What!" Paul exclaimed, looking up.

"The cab driver. He needs to be paid."

"You took a cab? I left you the rental car!" Obviously, he wasn't pleased.

"Like I know my way around DC," Paris told him as she cast him a withering glance.

Paul snorted. "You've been using a cab for the last two hours?"

Paris merely shrugged, not really concerned.

"Jesus Christ!" Paul exploded as he stormed out the door.

Paris began to look through the script, smiling evilly, content that she had pulled one over on the Cerebral Assassin. Minutes later, Paul returned and slammed the door, causing Paris to jump. Wow, he looks really pissed, she thought to herself.

"Everything OK?" Paris remarked, her face a mask of innocent sweetness.

Paul inhaled deeply, trying to control his anger. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he replied, his voice dangerously calm.

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Paul."

"I see," Paul said, nodding, still trying to remain calm and cool. "It's coming out of your paycheck."

"What! That's not fair!"

"I left you the goddamn rental car for a reason and I end up paying over $200 for a freaking cab!"

"I told you I don't know my way around Washington DC," Paris shot back as she attempted to walk away from him.

Paul quickly grabbed her arm, halting her escape. His face was only inches from hers. "Count your stars I'm only taking it out of your paycheck," he whispered menacingly. "In fact, you're lucky I don't make you get down on your knees and work it off!"

Paris glared at him, her eyes icy daggers. "Didn't we play that game last? Or did you forget already?" she spat.

Paul smirked, his dark eyes locking with hers. "How could I forget?" he mocked. "You're so good at it. Does Randy know how talented you are? I'm guessing he doesn't."

"You bastard…you…"

But she couldn't find the words. What could she say to hurt a man who had no conscience?

"You were saying?" Paul taunted, continuing to smirk sardonically.

Paris lowered her eyes. "I…I thought that you…you…"

Paul loosened his grip on her arm and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze softening slightly.

"OK, Princess—I get it. You're put out that it was back to business this morning, am I right?"

"I…I…"

"Sweetheart, I can't very well be all over you all the time—don't you think Randy would get a little suspicious, not to mention pissed off?"

Paris couldn't believe how arrogant he was. Angrily, she jerked her chin away from his grasp.

"I don't want that either!" she exclaimed. "It's just that you could have said something…you could have…but you just leave me some note about your fucking dry-cleaning!"

Paul laughed softly before meeting her stormy violet eyes. "What do want me to say, Paris? Thanks?"

Paris glared contemptuously at him as she pulled her arm angrily away.

"Forget it," she said, weakly. "You're being an ass, so just forget it, OK?"

"I'm being an ass?" Paul replied incredulously, gripping her arm once again. "I think I'm being pretty goddamn generous by not sharing the details of our evening together with Randy—but if you rather I did…or better yet, I could share it with half the locker room like Van Dam did. Is that what you want?"

Paris closed her eyes and sighed. "Of course not."

"I didn't think so," Paul stated, releasing her.

He crossed the room and sat back down on the couch. Paris stared after him, amazed that he could turn it on and off like a light switch. No wonder Stephanie got fed up. Paul was cold and manipulative, hiding his true feelings, whereas Shawn was the exact opposite. It was obvious to everyone who knew him that Shawn Michaels wore his heart on his sleeve and loved his fiancée openly and completely, despite the nasty things Paul said about him. At least, Stephanie didn't have to second-guess his love. Paris got the feeling that there wasn't a woman on Earth that could live up to Paul's standards, and she didn't really want to try. After all, she was in love with Randy, not Paul.

"If you don't need me to do anything, I'm gonna go grab some lunch," Paris told him. "Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm good," Paul replied as she nodded and headed toward the door. "Oh, Paris…one last thing—don't be surprised if Vince wants to talk to you today."

Paris looked alarmed. "Vince? Why?"

Paul chuckled. "Don't look so worried. I put in a good word for you. You'll be pleasantly surprised—I promise."

As hard as she tried and as big of a jerk as he could be, Paris found it difficult to stay angry with Paul. He couldn't help how he was. He lived and breathed the business—it was all he knew. He was used to being the best and with that came a certain amount of arrogance and egotism. Maybe someday he would find the right woman and learn how to love whole-heartedly.

Before leaving, Paris glanced back at Paul, pouting with feigned innocence. "I'll pay you back for the cab. It might take me a while, but I'll pay you back."

Paul shook his head, waving her away. "Forget it."

Paris left smiling. Men could be so gullible in the presence of a pretty face, but she wasn't fooling herself into thinking that this was the case with Paul. He was far from gullible and she knew that he was simply humoring her. He was probably sitting in the locker room at that moment, thinking of wicked and decadent ways that he could make her repay him for the cab. Good luck collecting that debt, Paris told herself. As far as she was concerned, there would be no more trysts with Paul and there definitely would not be a repeat of last night. Her wanton ways had come to an end. Even if Randy was frustrating her to no end, she loved him and wanted to be with only him. As Amy had said, she just needed to be patient. And she needed to behave herself in the meantime. At least, the cab fare would not be coming out of her pocket. What was 200 bucks to a guy like Paul anyways? (How ironic!)

Paris had just rounded the corner at the end of the hallway and she was so lost in thought that she ran right into a brick wall—at least, it felt like a brick wall. In reality, it was just Dave, followed by Randy and Amy. Dave smirked with amusement as Paris landed right on her behind, causing laughter from the Queen of Xtreme and the Legend Killer.

"Are you OK?" Dave asked as he helped her up.

Paris gingerly rubbed her butt. "Jeez, talk about a train wreck. Now, my butt hurts!"

"I can fix that," Randy said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply, causing Dave and Amy to groan and roll their eyes.

"Fuck, get a room!" Dave complained.

"You should talk," Randy shot back.

"What's that mean?" Evolution's Enforcer questioned.

"Hmm…let me think," Randy taunted. "Last night in the room, this morning in the bathroom, this afternoon on the plane—you sure you don't wanna go do it in the car? Or maybe the locker room is available?"

"Jealous much, Orton?" Dave smirked.

Randy laughed a very fake, insincere laugh. "That you're boning Amy—yes. That it's you—no."

Dave flipped him off as he and Amy turned and headed toward the locker room.

"I missed you," Randy said, turning back to Paris.

"Likewise," Paris replied, kissing him warmly.

"Everything go OK with Paul?"

"Fine," Paris told him a little too quickly, trying to fight the flip-flops in her stomach. "Why wouldn't they?"

"How was the meeting with Vince?" Randy couldn't help but feel somewhat suspicious at Paris' reaction.

Paris shrugged. "Short and sweet. Basically, Paul ranted about Goldberg, Vince assured him everything was taken care of, and that was the end of it."

"Then what?"

"Then, I went to bed. I vaguely heard Paul come in and he went right to bed, too." Paris was disgusted at how easily the lies were rolling off her tongue.

"So he didn't try anything?"

"Of course not."

Randy nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness gnawing at the inside of his stomach. With great effort, he pushed those thoughts into the back of his mind and put his arm tenderly around his girlfriend.

"I'm gonna drop off my stuff and then, I'll meet you at catering."

"I'll go with you," Paris said, liking arms with him and shouldering one of his bags.

Randy nodded once again and headed toward the locker room, hand in hand with Paris. Paris could tell that Randy was more than a little suspicious and she just hoped that when he questioned Paul, because she knew he would, that their stories would miraculously match. She followed Randy into the locker room, where Dave and Amy were unpacking their gear and Paul was just finishing a phone call. She shifted nervously as Randy approached Paul.

"Hey, Randy," The Game greeted pleasantly.

"How'd the meeting go?" Randy asked, deciding to skip the preliminaries.

"Meeting? Oh, you mean the one with Vince?"

Randy snorted. "Yeah, the one you nearly had a meltdown about last night?"

Paul very discreetly caught Paris' eyes as she stood off to Randy's side. Her look practically pleaded with him not to reveal too much.

"Pretty standard," Paul explained. "You know, I told him how it was, he agreed, and that was it. It was a good thing Paris was there though or I probably would have lost my temper. You know how Vince can be—annoyingly casual over things that he doesn't see as important. After that, Paris went to bed and I went out for a few beers with Shane and Vince."

"That's it?"

"Come on, Orton—you don't still think I was out to ravish your girlfriend, do you? Trust me, I had a lot more on my mind than sex last night."

Trust him? Who was he kidding? Randy thought mirthlessly. But nevertheless, the Legend Killer seemed to accept this explanation without incident and threw his gear in the corner before escorting Paris out the door to go have lunch. Paul looked up just to glimpse Paris throwing him a very relieved, very grateful glance over her shoulder as she left. He smirked and shook his head. Oh, what a wicked web we weave… This was going to be easier than shooting fish in a barrel.

After lunch, Paris was strolling down the hallway, heading for wardrobe when she heard someone call her name. Turning, she saw her boss, Shane McMahon, walking briskly to catch up with her.

"Hey, Shane—what can I do for you?"

"My dad wants to talk to you in his office, if you have a minute."

"Sure," Paris agreed, following the Boy Wonder and trying to dismiss his solemn demeanor. She hoped she wasn't in trouble or anything.

"Hello, Paris," Vince greeted, amicably as Shane held the door for her.

"Hi, Vince…I mean, Mr. McMahon."

Vince chuckled at the formality. "Vince is fine. Have a seat, Paris."

"A…am I in trouble?"

"Of course not," Vince laughed. "In fact, you've been doing a wonderful job from what I hear. Paul Levesque can't stop bragging about your many fine qualities."

I'll bet, Paris thought, smiling insincerely. She caught Shane's eye and the Heir Apparent seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Vince cleared his throat before continuing. "But I have to tell you, I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like to hear first?"

Paris shrugged. "The bad, I guess."

"Paris, did you see Tess recently?" Vince asked.

"Yeah, on Saturday. We had lunch and we kinda got in fight."

"Well, apparently, she's worried about you and Danny wants you to come home. He told me…no, actually, he ordered me to put you on plane ASAP."

"But I don't want to go home."

"Well, that's good," Vince went on. "Because the good news is I want you to become a WWE diva."

"What!"

"A WWE diva."

"Me? But why?"

Vince laughed heartily, obviously amused that a girl as beautiful as Paris couldn't understand why he would want her as a diva.

"Danny let it slip that you were quite the athlete in school—volleyball, gymnastics, karate…"

"I was a red belt in karate," Paris told him proudly.

"You see—I knew it. Plus you're undeniably beautiful and you have incredible personality. I think you'd take to wrestling and performing like a duck to water. Of course, I'll be permanently on Danny's shit list, but I've been worse…I can handle it."

"Thank you, but…"

Vince stared hard at her. "This opportunity only comes along once in a lifetime and it's yours if you want it, Paris. Do you want it?"

Paris was nothing if not a little overwhelmed. She knew Danny was going to be angry. After all, he had sent her here so she could see the dark underbelly of the entertainment business. But he was wrong. The WWE was nothing like Hollywood, or even the casinos in Vegas. It was like a family and for the first time, Paris felt as if she belonged somewhere.

"Of course, I do."

"Good, you leave for OVW next Monday."

"Leave? I have to leave?"

"Well, yes. We gotta get you trained up. We're looking at a WrestleMania debut, so we don't have a lot of time. I'm confident that you'll make me proud."

"Am I gonna be wrestling?" Paris inquired, trying not to sound too intimidated about going to strange place, meeting new people, leaving everything she knew…leaving Randy.

"Eventually," Shane replied. "But let's get you trained on being a diva first."

"What's my character gonna be?"

"We're not sure yet," Vince explained. "Or even who were gonna put you with. Possibly Evolution, but nothing's written in stone yet. Shane's gonna work all that out with Jim Cornette and Tammy Petersen."

That must be the Tammy who used to date Brock Lesnar, Paris thought, remembering Trish and Amy discussing her. They had said that she practically runs OVW. Hopefully, Tammy would be a friend and an ally. They already had a dislike for Sarah in common.

"Oh my God, Vince, thank you so much," Paris gushed as she shook the WWE chairman's hand. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Just make me proud," Vince told her as he circled his desk and gave her a fatherly hug. "Oh, and thank Paul Levesque—he's the one who suggested you."

Paris continued smiling, but the mention of Paul recommending her and the fact that she was now indebted him caused her stomach to flutter slightly. What the hell kind of game was he playing? What did he want from her aside from the obvious? Maybe it was a good thing that she would be leaving soon, at least temporarily.

"What about my dad?" Paris asked, shifting gears to a more sobering note.

"Let me handle Danny," Vince assured her. "He may not think much of my business, but he'll listen to me. And if he doesn't, well…you're a big girl, right?"

"Right," Paris echoed, sounding more confident than she really was. But Vince was right, it was high time she stood up to Danny. She wasn't a little girl anymore.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work," Vince said, seeing her and Shane to the door.

"Oh, thank you so much, Vince—you won't regret this decision."

With that, she gave both the Chairman and his son a hug that would have staggered the Big Show had he been in the same position.

"Oh, Vince?"

"Yes, Paris?"

"There's a girl on the ring crew named Amanda Jones—and if you don't have anyone else in mind to replace me as a coordinator, she'd be perfect for the job. Just a suggestion."

"I'll take that under advisement."

Paris smiled as she gave Vince a quick kiss on the cheek before skipping off to share her news with Randy and the rest of her friends.

Shane glanced unobtrusively at his father as the older man watched Paris leave. He could have sworn the old man was blushing, but there was more. Furrowing his brow, Shane couldn't understand the strange look in his father's eyes. He remembered seeing that look when he had told his dad that Marissa was pregnant and when Stephanie had graduated from college. It was a look of intense pride and unconditional love. Why was he looking at Paris that way? Unless, of course, Vince knew how Danny was going to react to Paris' career choice and that she would need a father figure of some sort now more than ever. Of course, that had to be it.

Oh my God, oh my God! Paris' mind was screaming as she raced down the hallway in search of Randy, Dave, Amy, Amanda—anyone that she could share her news with. She was just about to head back to the locker room when she rounded a corner and something distracted her. She noticed Matt Hardy sitting on a table and that was unusual in itself because Matt was still on SmackDown until November, but what was more unusual was the red-headed woman he was making out with! Paris couldn't believe that Amy would cheat on Dave—and right in the middle of the hallway for everyone to see!

"Amy Christine Dumas! What the hell are you doing?" Paris shouted, startling the couple.

The woman turned around to face Paris and much to the newest diva's surprise, it wasn't the Queen of Xtreme, but her old friend, Amanda Jones. Since when was Amanda dating Matt? Paris and Amy had just seen the ass clown on Tuesday when he had thrown down with Cena, but he never said a word, not that he would to them. What astounded Paris more than the little tryst with Matt was Amanda's hair—her long sun-streaked brunette locks were now a vivid red—just like Amy.

"Amanda, I'm so sorry—I thought you were someone else."

"Oh, it's OK."

"What are you doing here?" Paris questioned, turning to Matt.

"I work here," he replied sarcastically.

"No, I mean what are doing here at RAW?"

"Well, I am coming back in November so Vince thought I should get acquainted with the storylines. Besides, I wanted to see my girl."

"Since when are you his girl?" Paris asked Amanda.

"We got together at the house shows this past weekend," Amanda explained as Paris regarded both of them with skepticism. She vaguely recalled seeing Matt at the RAW house shows, but she didn't like him enough to pay that close of attention.

"And what's with the hair?" Paris went on.

"I just needed a change," Amanda said. "And I know what you're thinking, Paris, but I dyed my hair before I even started dating Matt."

"I wasn't thinking anything," Paris lied. "It looks great—really."

"Thanks."

"Well, since I'm here, I might as well share my news with you. Vince asked me to be a diva—I leave for OVW on Monday."

Paris was shocked as Amanda squealed and threw her arms around Paris. They hadn't been that close recently, so her reaction was more than a little baffling.

"Oh my God, Paris! That's so awesome! I knew you'd do great things here."

"That is cool—congratulations, Paris," Matt added, surprisingly sincere.

"Um…thanks, Matt," Paris replied, confused that he was being so nice. Maybe he was trying to impress Amanda.

"Anyway, I recommended you to Vince and Shane to take my place as a coordinator."

"Really? That's so sweet of you." Amanda smiled warmly, regretting instantly that she had judged Paris so harshly and let someone like Sarah come between them.

"Well, no guarantee they'll give it to you, but if they do, it'll get you away from the ring crew."

"You mean away from Sarah?" Amanda added slyly.

"You said it, I didn't."

"I guess we agree on one thing, Paris," Matt stated. "That's Miss Sarah."

"Scary, you and I agreeing, Matt," Paris replied, laughing slightly. "Well, I better go—gotta share the news with Randy."

"See ya, Paris," Amanda said, waving.

"Say hi to my brother when you get to OVW," Matt called.

Paris walked off, puzzled by Matt's comment. Was Jeff in OVW?

"You don't like her, do you?" Amanda asked her new boyfriend.

Matt shrugged. "Oh, she's not so bad, I guess. Maybe I misjudged her. It was nice of her to put in a word for you."

"Yeah, she's OK," Amanda agreed, smiling as they headed off hand in hand toward catering.

Meanwhile, Paris burst into Evolution's locker room, looking for Randy, but the only one there was Paul. He was pacing around, shirtless, checking his voicemail.

"Hey," Paris said casually.

"Hey, Paris."

"Where is everyone?"

"Ric's talking to JR, Amy's with Brian Gewirtz, and Randy's doing calis with Dave in the training room."

"Oh, well, I guess this is the perfect time."

"For what?"

"To thank you."

Paul smiled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Paris slapped him playfully on the arm. "For getting me the diva job."

"That had nothing to do with me," Paul scoffed. "Vince likes your look—can't say that I blame him."

"But Vince listens to you. You were right."

"About?"

"You said if I was in your inner circle, there would be brass rings and you were right. How can I ever repay you?"

Paul was momentarily speechless as Paris threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Try as she might, Paris could never stay angry with him. She only hoped that he recommended her to Vince because he sincerely believed that she would be a good diva, not because of some other performance that she didn't care to mention.

Paul held her close, inhaling the scent of her perfume. He heard Paris gasp as he ran his lips along the smooth skin of her neck. She pressed against him—his skin was warm and smelled like Cool Water.

"Maybe I can visit you in OVW and we can work something out," he murmured in her ear.

"Paul, you're so bad," Paris whispered, looking into his dark eyes.

"Am I?" Paul asked, his lips millimeters from hers. "You have no idea."

Before Paris knew what was happening, his mouth met hers in a hot, sensual kiss. Paris twined her fingers in his soft hair and pressed against his muscled body. His strong arms locked around her waist as his tongue probed her mouth insistently, swirling around her steel tongue piercing. But just as quickly as it started, Paul suddenly broke the heated exchange.

"I can have that door locked in five seconds…just say the word," he whispered breathlessly.

"Paul, I…"

"I know…this isn't right." Reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her.

"It's not that it doesn't feel good…it's just that…"

"Randy."

"Yeah, Randy."

"I understand," Paul said as he released her, feigning chivalry. "Maybe in another life, huh?"

"I don't understand you, Paul."

"Not many people do."

"No, I mean, one minute you're like this and then, the next you're like you were this morning. You run hot and cold—it's very unnerving."

"Keeps you guessing, doesn't it?"

"No one likes to be manipulated."

"But I'm so good at it."

"Paul, can I ask you something and you promise to be honest?"

"I'll do my best."

"The diva job—did you suggest me because I…I…gave…"

"Because you gave me head?"

Paris exhaled sharply, blushing to the roots of her hair. "Yeah."

Paul laughed. "Paris, if I did that for every girl who gave me head, we'd have one hell of a diva population problem around here."

Paris laughed. "Oh, you wish."

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be that bad, but still… Anyway, no, I didn't suggest you because you…showed me some oral appreciation. I talked to Vince before that even happened."

"Oh, well, good."

"Now that we got that out of the way, can I say something to you and you promise not to get offended?"

"I promise."

"I don't care if you are Randy's girlfriend, I still want to fuck you."

Paris smiled. He was incorrigible. "I know you do, Paul, but…"

"I know, I know, it wouldn't be right. Why don't you go tell RKO your good news?" He swatted her playfully on the butt.

"I will. Thanks again, Paul."

"My pleasure. Wait, what are you thanking me for? The job or the make out session?"

Paris rolled her eyes. "The job, H, the job!"

"Oh, OK—you're very welcome…for both."

Paris stuck her tongue out at him before rushing out the door to go find Randy. She finally tracked him down in the training room doing stretches with Dave.

"Hey, baby," Paris said, standing over him.

Randy looked up and smiled. "Hey, babe—you're looking hot."

"Really?" Paris said, nervously primping her hair, remembering her tryst with Paul. For a minute, she thought he meant 'hot' as in overheated rather than 'hot' as in attractive. "Um…I mean, thanks."

"Hey, guess what?" Paris went on as Randy gave her a strange look after her last comment.

"What?"

"Vince and Shane asked me to be a diva—I leave for OVW on Monday."

Randy was stunned. He rose to his feet, unable to deny the sick feeling that Paul had something to do with Paris' promotion. Regardless of his gut instinct, he put on a smile for Paris' sake.

"Baby, that's great," he said, hugging her. "I'm so proud of you."

"Congratulations, Paris," Dave said, rising and giving her a huge bear hug.

"It's all so overwhelming," Paris told them, fighting tears at the thought of being away from the man she loved and the other man who had become like a brother to her. "What if I don't like OVW?"

"You're gonna love OVW," Randy assured her. "Don't worry so much, OK?"

"But I won't be with you."

"Babe, you won't be in OVW forever—you'll be back. Besides, St. Louis isn't that far from Louisville."

"Louisville? As in Kentucky?"

"That's where OVW is headquartered," Dave explained. "Jim Cornette runs it, but it's his assistant, Tammy Petersen, who keeps everything organized."

"She's the one who used to date Brock Lesnar, right?"

"Tammy's awesome," Randy told her. "I'm sure you'll hit it off with her."

Randy and Dave's reassuring words were interrupted by a loud shriek and a mane of flying red hair as Amy ran in and hugged Paris.

"Paris, I just heard! This is so awesome—maybe they'll make us tag team partners."

"I don't think so, Ames," Randy interjected, arrogantly but jokingly. "See, you're a face and Paris will definitely be a heel because she'll be with Evolution."

"Says who, pretty boy?" the red head shot back.

"Says me."

"Hold on, you guys," Paris laughed. "I haven't even learned how to climb in the ring yet."

"Don't worry, Paris," Dave said, putting a huge arm around her. "You're gonna do great and we're all behind you…you know that."

Paris was on the verge of getting misty-eyed again when the conversation was further interrupted by Chris Jericho, who announced that Ass Clown Jr., Chris' affectionate nickname for Shane, was having a quick meeting in the catering room. The group followed Chris to the meeting where most of the roster and backstage crew were already gathered.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Shane announced, standing at the front of the room. "Thank you for your time. I know that we have a busy night, but a few of our employees have been promoted recently and I'd like to take the time to recognize them. First, Amanda Jones from the ring crew has been promoted to travel coordinator. Sadly, one of our coordinators, Derrick Thomas, has put in his notice in order to go back to school, and Sarah Wayne, also from the ring crew, will be replacing him."

Paris glanced at Amanda, rolling her eyes. Just when Amanda found a way to get away from Sarah, Derrick had to go and quit, and now, Sarah was going to be a coordinator as well.

"Now, many of you may be wondering whom Amanda is replacing," Shane went on. "I'm proud to announce that Paris Ocean will be leaving for Ohio Valley Wrestling to be trained as a WWE diva."

There was a round of applause and several cheers as Chris and Trish both surrounded Paris, giving her shoulders a friendly squeeze.

"Also," the Boy Wonder continued. "As many of you already know, Matt Hardy will be returning to RAW sometime in November and we are currently negotiating with Jeff Hardy for a possible return sometime next year. Please take the time to wish everyone well in their new endeavors."

Shane dismissed the meeting, reminding everyone of camera time. Several people began crowding around Paris, congratulating her and wishing her well, including Amanda, who personally thanked Paris for the coordinator job. Only Sarah remained on the edge, slightly put out that Paris was getting so much attention. As the crowd slowly dispersed, Paris noticed that Randy, Dave, and Ric had disappeared with Paul, probably to get ready for the show. Shane managed to get her attention, indicating that he needed her to wait until he finished talking to Jay, Trish, and Amy. Paris was talking to Stacy Keibler and Amanda when she felt a light swat on her rear end. She looked around to see Rob Van Dam stroll by. How dare he grab her ass, especially after what happened between him and Randy.

"Congratulations, Tootsie Pop," Rob taunted. "No need to ask how you got the job."

Paris gave him a withering glare and made a phony laughing noise.

"Rob, fuck off!" Stacy shouted, surprising everyone, including herself. Her eyes got wide and she put her hand over her mouth, mainly because Stacy hardly ever swore.

"Nice language, Stace," Rob tsked. "Not surprising with the company you're keeping."

Paris opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort, but Mr. Monday Night had already disappeared around the corner. Just as Rob made his exit, Sarah chose that moment to approach Paris. Great, another person Paris couldn't stand. Apparently, Stacy felt the same way because she quickly excused herself and headed off in the same direction as Rob.

"Hey, Paris…congratulations," Sarah said, a little too enthusiastic.

"You, too," Paris replied, insincerely.

"Yeah, I was a coordinator in OVW so it was only natural that I'd be doing it here, too—there just haven't been any openings," Sarah bragged.

Paris nodded and glanced at Amanda. She knew that her friend was wondering the same thing—if Sarah was such a shoe in, then why didn't she get the job before Paris got hired?

"Anyway, you'll like OVW," Sarah went on. "Everyone's really nice, but can I give you a piece of friendly advice…on the QT, of course?"

"Of course."

Sarah looked around before lowering her voice. "Look, I know that Lita and Trish are friends with Tammy Petersen, but please watch yourself with her. I mean, you can't avoid her because she practically runs OVW, but just know…she's a liar and a backstabber. And so is Katie Carlisle."

Paris smiled, totally fake. "Well, thanks, Sarah, but I like to make up my own mind about people."

Sarah shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just think how hard it's gonna be to leave Randy. But he's so popular—I'm sure he'll be just fine without you."

"I'm sure," Paris replied, her voice as phony as the smile she had plastered on her face. "I hate to be rude, Sarah, but I need to catch Shane."

"That's OK. Amanda and I need to get to work anyway, right, Amanda?"

Amanda looked at Paris and rolled her eyes before trotting off behind Sarah. Paris smirked. Apparently, Amanda was becoming as disenchanted with Sarah as everyone else. Glancing up, Paris was able to get Shane's attention, but before she could approach him, she was intercepted by Chris Jericho and Trish Stratus, both offering congratulations and luck. Chris even put his arm around her and started singing the theme song to The Jeffersons—'We're Movin On Up.'

"Chris, be serious for a change," Trish scolded as she hugged Paris.

"Listen, Junior," Y2J explained. "Not to be bossy or anything because God knows you have Trish for that, but when you go to OVW, you need to assert yourself from the get go."

"Yeah," Trish echoed, giving her boyfriend a dirty look for his earlier quip. "There are some people there who think they own the place, namely Bolin Services and the Disciples of Synn."

"Synn's a total wack job—just ask Dave Batista," Chris said.

"But don't worry," Trish assured. "Just get in good with Tammy and you're set."

"Funny, I was just warned to stay away from her."

"By who?"

"Sarah."

Trish rolled her eyes. "Oh, quel surprise. Naturally, she'd say that after the whole Brock incident."

"She mentioned Katie, too—Cena's girlfriend."

"God, she's a bitch!" Trish exclaimed. "Katie's the sweetest, nicest person you could ever meet. It's because she's friends with Tammy."

"Anyway, you'll do fine," Chris told her. "We're all pulling for you."

"Thanks, Jerky," Paris said, hugging him. "Don't go becoming a huge rock star while I'm gone."

Chris stared at her in disbelief. "I am a huge rock star," he declared as Paris gave Trish a hug, stating that she'd miss them both very much.

"You never know—we just might have to visit," Trish promised.

Just then, Shane walked up, apologizing for keeping her waiting. After greeting the blond Canadian couple and lamenting that he had to steal Paris away, Shane escorted her down the hall to a small, makeshift office.

"I'm sorry that took so long," he said regretfully. "Look, I know Dad and I kind of sprung this on you without a lot of details, so that's why I wanted to chat with you. We've already arranged a place for you to live. OVW has several houses in the Louisville area that are really nice and you'll be living in one of them. We put you in one with a loft so you could have your privacy. You're going to be living with Jeff Hardy, Adam Copeland, and a developmental prospect named Mike Mizanin. You might know him from The Real World—you know, the guy that calls himself the Miz. If we like him, he's gonna get put on Tough Enough next summer. Anyhoo, Adam, who you may know as Edge, is in OVW as we speak training up from his neck injury. You're gonna come in as Jeff's valet, Nikki, and you guys are gonna save Edge from a double team by the DoS."

"DoS?"

"The Disciples of Synn—Travis Tomko and Kevin Fertig, also know as Bane and Seven. Synn's their manager."

"Great," Paris replied glumly.

"What's wrong?"

"Trish told me to avoid Synn and Bolin Services."

"Synn's a little different, but she's relatively harmless. She kind of lives her character—there's no distinction between who she is in the ring and who she really is. She used to be a professional dominatrix."

"Even better."

"But I would advise you to stay away from Bolin Services. Tammy Petersen—

she's Jim Cornette's assistant—will show you and tell you everything you need to know."

"What do I do for money?"

"You get paid a weekly salary for being on a developmental contract and your housing is paid for. You'll be training at Trax South with Fit Finlay, Ivory, and John Gubrurick, who's better known as Big from Tough Enough. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, you'll be training—first to be a diva and then, to be a wrestler. You'll be reading a lot, studying videos, learning the business. I told Jim you don't know a lot about wrestling history so he'll concentrate on that. On Wednesday, OVW tapes their TV show at the Davis Arena in Louisville and they do weekend house shows. Jeff and Adam both know you're coming—Jeff's arriving the day after you and the Miz will be there in a couple weeks. Any questions?"

Paris stared blankly at him. Any questions? She only had about a million, but at the moment, her brain wasn't functioning enough to formulate coherent words.

"I'm sure I'll have several questions, but I'm a little overwhelmed right now."

"Perfectly understandable. I'll leave you alone for now—let everything sink in and we'll get your paperwork in order this weekend."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry—you'll be fine. Just take it one step at a time."

Shane took leave of Paris, excusing himself that he had work to do. Paris went back to Evolution's locker room. Paul was having a pow wow with his troops, which he never minded if Paris sat in on. Tonight was Goldberg's first night as World champion. Paul, Ric, and Randy were in a six-man tag and afterward, Triple H was going to deliver a cryptic message to the fans that they need him more than he needs them. This was in order to set up the bounty on Goldberg storyline and Batista's return. Also, Paul was going to miss some shows to finish filming 'Blade: Trinity.' Not only was he the biggest superstar in wrestling, but now, he was a movie star, too. Of course, he'd been traveling back and forth for some time, filming and wrestling. But now, they were starting to film the bulk of his action scenes and that was mostly why he jobbed the title to Goldberg, even though he wasn't happy about it. Paul would have preferred jobbing the title to someone more deserving, like Jericho, Kane, or even Shawn Michaels. At least, they had talent. It was no big secret, even to Paris, that Paul disliked Goldberg and regarded him as one of the least talented men in wrestling. Nevertheless, Paul was a team player and did what was asked of him for the good of the company—as long as it was temporary.

Paris had a hard time concentrating on the show, even though everything went well. Amy teamed with Trish to defeat Gail Kim and Molly Holly. Theodore Long said he was going to run for President and introduced a guy named Mark Henry as his newest client. Steve Austin signed a match for next week for Christian to defend the Intercontinental title against Rob in a ladder match. Paris knew that Rob was slated to win, thus setting up his eventual loss to Randy at the pay-per-view in December. Kane got into a huge brawl with Shane McMahon at a 'medical facility', which was actually a set backstage. Evolution defeated Maven, Mark Jindrak, and Garrison Cade. The Rock was shown at the premier of 'The Rundown,' his latest starring movie. And lastly, Eric Bischoff and Steve Austin got into a brawl when Austin prevented Eric from interfering in a match between Chris and Goldberg. Afterward, Trish accompanied Chris to the trainer's room as he complained loudly that Goldberg had hit him with a stiff kick to the head. Goldberg took exception to Chris' comments, but before he could debate, he was called into Shane's office were several bystanders claimed to have heard shouting and profanity.

The thought of Goldberg getting into trouble pleased Paul to no end. He even offered to take everyone out for a celebration, to honor Paris' promotion and Evolution's victory that night. It was so unusual for Paul to be that generous, especially after a title loss, but The Game was no fool. He knew that the belt would be back around his waist in no time. He was also unabashedly confident that he would be the one collecting $200 from the unsuspecting Randy Orton and Dave Batista. He knew that he had Paris just where he wanted her. She trusted him and she was indebted to him, not just for the job, but also for not saying anything to Randy about their interlude. Unfortunately, he only had a week to make it happen, and then, she was off to OVW. But he wasn't worried. Look at how much had happened already and Randy didn't have a clue. It wasn't like Paul hated Randy—in fact, it was just the opposite. He was quite fond of the youngster, seeing some of himself at times. But he was The Game. He was The Cerebral Assassin. And he was that damn good. He never lost and he never would lose, especially when it came to a woman. He didn't want to hurt Randy, but unfortunately, Randy was the one who was gonna know what it felt like to get RKO'd in the worst possible way.

Time to call in the markers, time to pass go, time to collect $200.

Time to play the game.

You all know how I love reviews, so please do so. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and I'm sorry if the last chapter offended anyone. Hugs…

----Evilution


	21. Hey Jealousy

Chapter 21 – Hey Jealousy

By Evilution

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it, so don't sue. Many people have asked me what Paris looks like since I haven't really described her other than she's pretty, blond, and has violet eyes. I picture her kind of looking like Anna Kournikova only with shorter hair and a few piercings. She's not super thin, like Paris Hilton, but she has some muscle and some toning to her body. If you've ever looked at Anna K., she's totally gorgeous and has a great body, but she's not tiny. She has those tennis muscles. Plus, I picture Paris being pretty tall, about the same height as say Lita or Stephanie McMahon. I hope that's how you envisioned her as well.

After the show, Paris went back to the hotel with Amy, Dave, Randy, and Paul. Since it was their last show before their days off, everyone wanted to go out. Plus, there was Paul's promise of a celebration since he was so overjoyed that Goldberg had gotten reprimanded for his bad attitude. Unfortunately, Paris wasn't really in the mood to paint the town red. In fact, she was downright cranky and it was mainly because of a comment that Randy had made earlier about how he wasn't happy about her upcoming living arrangements in OVW and that he was going to talk to Shane about it. Paris wasn't sure if she liked his possessiveness or that he wanted to go to Shane over her head when she didn't really have a problem with the situation. It was like Randy didn't think she was capable of making her own decision on the matter. Granted, Paris was a little nervous about living with three guys, but it was measurably better than living all alone in a strange city, which scared her more. Besides, Adam was friends with Jay and Chris, Jeff was nothing like Matt, and Mike had been on The Real World, so he was used to living with women and their eccentricities. Paris just wasn't too keen on forcing Shane to rearrange all of his plans for her simply because Randy was being jealous and insecure.

Randy and Paris departed from Dave, Amy, and Paul at their respective hotel rooms with plans of meeting up in an hour or so after everyone had showered and changed. The Marriott in Washington DC always comped a bunch of rooms for the WWE so several of the bigger superstars got their own rooms, which came in handy for guys like Dave and Randy who were the other half of a couple.

"You wanna shower first?" Randy asked, throwing his gear on the floor.

Paris shrugged unenthusiastically as she set her purse and coat on the bed. "You go ahead," she told him.

Randy smiled wickedly. "Or we could save time and shower together?"

As frustrated as Paris had been lately, she normally would have jumped at the chance to shower with the Legend Killer, but her exhaustion and underlying animosity kind of put a damper on the moment.

"Actually, Randy, I think I'm gonna stay in tonight. It's been a long day."

Randy nodded. "OK, we'll stay in."  
"No, you go ahead and go out. Dave and Amy'll be bummed if we both cancel, not to mention Paul."

"But you're my girl. I don't want to go out without my girl."

"Randy, I just don't feel like it, OK?" Paris said weakly.

"Baby, are you OK?" Randy asked, gently grabbing her shoulders.

"I'm fine," Paris declared, a little sharper than she meant.

Randy immediately noticed her tone and furrowed his brow slightly at her change in demeanor.

"Whoa, wait a minute…are you, like, pissed or something?"

Paris sighed, not in the mood for a fight, but not wanting to keep it inside any longer. "Yeah, I mean…yeah, I guess I am."

"At me?" Randy inquired, staring at her incredulously.

Paris shook her head. She loved Randy, but sometimes that veiled arrogance that he usually only displayed on camera came creeping out. It was as if he couldn't fathom that she could possibly be mad at him.

"I just didn't appreciate you saying that you were gonna go talk to Shane about my living arrangements in OVW. I mean, I personally don't have a problem with it and I don't think that it's gonna look very good that my boyfriend goes running to the boss complaining about it."

"Are you serious?" Randy replied, his voice edged with sarcastic amusement and disbelief.

Paris snorted, realizing that he was mocking her. "Well, apparently, you don't think I am, so why am I wasting my breath?"

"Are you on your period or something because I don't get this attitude?" Randy scoffed.

"No, Randy, I'm not on my period," Paris retorted, thoroughly irritated. "That was last week, remember? And I'm sorry if you don't like my attitude, but this is how I am. When I'm pissed, I let people know I'm pissed. And since you're my boyfriend, I thought maybe I could talk to you like an adult about what's bothering me, but I guess if you're just gonna make fun of me…" She snatched her nightgown and started to walk away toward the bathroom.

Randy grabbed her arm, a little annoyed himself at this point. "Now, just a damn minute, Paris…I wasn't making fun of you, OK? I asked if you were serious because I can't believe how naïve you are if you think that this is a kosher situation. Shane's gotta be out of his freaking mind!"

"Well, obviously you don't think that I'm capable of making an intelligent decision and you're just being jealous because I'm gonna be living with three guys."  
"Jealous?" Randy exclaimed, sarcastically. "Now why would I be jealous? Let's look at the scenario here, OK? First, you've got Jeff Hardy. Now, I hear all these rumors that he's gay, but he's awfully popular with the ladies…"

"Gay guys usually are."

"Would you just please listen for once in your life?"

Paris rolled her eyes, but continued giving him her undivided attention.

"Then, you've got this Mizanin guy, who probably gets laid left and right because he's a 'reality TV star.' Then, last but certainly not least, there's Adam Copeland, the biggest horn dog, male slut, chauvinist asshole that ever set foot in the WWE! So you tell me, Paris—why in the blue hell would I be jealous? Excuse the fuck outta me for being concerned and wanting to protect you!"

"Randy, stop yelling!" Paris shouted.

"Well, now I'm pissed!"

"Fine, you're pissed, but you have to understand—I'm an intelligent woman, OK? I'm not gonna do anything stupid. Besides, I don't think Shane would put me in a situation where my reputation would be compromised."

"But Paris, you're not experienced with men. You'd be like a lamb to the slaughter with a guy like Copeland. He's just as bad as Paul."

"So what you're really saying is that you don't trust me!"

"I do trust you—I don't trust Copeland or that Miz guy or….

"Or Paul, right?"

"Why are you bringing up Paul all of the sudden?" Randy asked, suspicious.

"I'm not!" Paris shouted, obviously frustrated. "You brought him up when you were talking about Adam Copeland!"

"That's because they're two peas in pod!"

"Sounds like you're just a little jealous, Randy!"

"I'm not freaking jealous of those two assholes!" Randy exploded. "Especially Paul!"

"Then, why did you have to call and check on me when I was shopping with him?"

"Because there was absolutely no reason for him to be there! Shopping is for girls! Obviously, he wants something…and I think you and I both know what it is."

"So this isn't really about me living with Adam, Jeff, and Mike—it's about Paul and your issues with insecurity!"

"No, this isn't about Paul or my insecurities, such that they are. You're the one who diverted the subject, Paris."

"Look, Randy, all I'm saying is that it's not your place to go and talk to Shane about who I live with in OVW…or anything else about my career for that matter. You're not my husband, you're not my boss, and you're not my lord and master, OK?"

"OK, fine!" Randy shot back. "You go talk to Shane then!"

"No, because I don't have an issue with it!"

Randy growled with frustration, running his hands through his hair. "So you don't even care that I do have a problem with it?"

"Of course I care, but Randy…who am I with?"

He shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Me."

"And who am I totally in love with?"

"Kane?"

Paris laughed in spite of herself. "Come on…I'm serious!"

"OK, you love me…am I right?"

"Duh! Like I'm gonna screw that up over some guy I don't even know. Jeff's cute and all, but he's totally not my type. Mike Mizanin—come on…I watch him on TV! He's totally immature and look at the shit he pulls on the Real World/Road Rules Challenges. And as for Adam Copeland, I don't even know him and I'm not into guys with long hair. And that applies to Paul, too."

"Paris, look, I'm just a little concerned, OK?" Randy replied, feeling a tad silly. "I love you and it's my male ego having a complete meltdown because I just want to protect you."

Paris hugged him tightly, feeling his strength. "And I appreciate that. But the whole reason I'm here is to 'grow up' as my dad told me. So you have to let me do what I need to do and trust me, OK?"

Randy sighed. "Fine, I'll try not to be too possessive, but I still don't like those guys, especially Copeland."

Paris smiled and shook her head. "You better hit the shower, RKO."

"Are you coming with me?" Randy inquired, smiling slyly.

"To the shower or to the club?" Paris teased, looking toward the table as her cell phone rang.

"Both."

"Let me get this and then I'll join you, OK?"

Paris grabbed her phone momentarily distracted as Randy pulled his shorts off on the way to the bathroom, giving her a glimpse of his perfect ass. She checked the caller ID and it said 'Danny Ocean.' Oh, goody, she thought.

"Hello?" she greeted as pleasantly as she could.

"Paris, how are you?" the business-like voice of Danny Ocean echoed through the phone.

"I'm well and you?"

"Let's skip the small talk, OK? Why did you deliberately defy my orders for Vince to send you home?"

"Because I don't want to come home."

"It's not a negotiation, Paris. Your mother saw you in New York and she's worried. She says you've lost weight and you just picked at your food. She's concerned that you're sick again. Have you been throwing up?"

"No, Dad, I haven't been throwing up! And she's one to talk! Did you know she's smoking again?"

"Nevertheless, we want you to come home."

"I already told you, I don't want to come home. Vince is having me trained to become a diva. I'll be on TV and I'll be making way more money and…"

"And wearing as little clothing as possible and posing in Playboy before long no doubt. Listen, Paris, I love Vince like a brother, but I know what kind of a business he runs."

"Look, Dad…"

"No, you look, Paris! I sent you out there to learn some valuable life lessons and that obviously hasn't happened nor is it going to happen with you parading around the ring wearing next to nothing!"

"That's not how it is!" Paris exclaimed, tears starting to fall.

"I know exactly how it is," Danny replied. "Now, I've booked you a ticket on United—it leaves tomorrow at…"

"I'm not using it!" Paris shouted, interrupting.

"You'll do as I tell you, Paris!" Danny demanded, also shouting.

"No, I won't!" Paris argued. "I'm not a child! I'm 20 years old. You can't order me around like one of your staff!"

"I know what this is about," Danny stated knowingly. "Your mother said you have a boyfriend. Don't tell me you're dating one of those greased-up jocks that work for Vince. Those guys have a different woman in every city."

"That's not true!"

"Oh, I forgot—you're 20 years old, so you know everything!"

"I'm staying here!" Paris replied, sniffling.

"If you defy me on this, Paris, I'll have no choice!" Danny shouted. Paris could just imagine the vein standing out on his forehead. "I'll have to totally cut you off…that means no emergency credit card, no cell phone, nothing! Do you hear me?"

Paris was sobbing uncontrollably as Danny continued his tirade. She was so upset that she didn't even hear half of what he said. Randy came out of the bathroom and saw her crying. Immediately concerned, he held up his hands and looked at her questioningly as if to ask what was going on. Unable to take anymore, Paris threw the phone on the floor and flung herself across the bed, crying loudly. Randy crossed the room and picked up the phone, still staring at his girlfriend with worry.

"Hello?" the Legend Killer greeted hesitantly.

"Paris?" a sharp male voice shouted. "Who in the hell is this?"

Randy cocked his eyebrow, the rude tone putting him on the defensive. "This is Randy Orton. Who is this?" he demanded.

"This is Danny Ocean, Paris' father," the man continued rudely. "What did you say your name was?"

"Randy Orton."

"You must be the boyfriend…am I right?"

"Yes, I'm Paris' boyfriend," Randy replied respectfully yet warily.

"And you're in the same room as she is?"

"Umm…there's a few people here actually. Paris coordinates for several of us and…"

"Put my daughter back on the phone!" Danny ordered, interrupting.

Randy shook his head in disbelief. God, the guy was being a prick! Reluctantly, he held the phone toward Paris.

"I don't want to talk to him!" Paris screamed, still crying.

"Sir, she's a little upset," Randy explained, gingerly. "Why don't I have her call you back in like an hour?"

"Make it half an hour," Danny shot back just before the phone clicked, disconnecting.

"Jeez, rude or anything," Randy snapped at the offending dial tone. "Paris, baby, what happened?" Randy sat down on the bed and took her in his arms.

"He thinks he can run my life!" Paris sobbed. "He wants me to come home or he's gonna completely cut me off!"

Randy stroked her hair tenderly. "Ssh…it's OK, Paris. You're an adult—he can't force you to do anything."

"But I'll have nothing—no phone, no money…and I bet he's gonna persuade Vince to not give me the job!"

"That's not gonna happen," Randy reassured her. "Look, you don't need his stupid phone—you can use mine until you get to Louisville and then, you can get your own. As for money, you're gonna be making way more as a diva. And I don't care how good of friends they are, Vince isn't gonna let your dad influence his business decisions."

Paris sniffled. "You think?"

"I know, OK? Now, listen—I'm gonna run you a bath while you call Vince…he's speed dial 8 on my phone…and give him a heads up about your dad. Then, we're gonna order room service and spend the evening together, just you and me, OK?"

Paris nodded and wiped her face while Randy went into the bathroom to run her a hot bath. She called Vince to tell him what happened and amazingly, he wasn't surprised. He told her that he had a similar conversation with Danny only hours ago. Vince assured her that any decisions about her career were hers and hers alone. As far as he was concerned, Danny had no say in the matter once Paris made up her mind. Paris hung up from her phone call with the Chairman of the Board feeling undeniably better. She took her bath while Randy called Dave and told the Enforcer that he and Paris would be staying in for the night.

An hour later, Paris was lying naked, face down on the bed as Randy rubbed lotion on her back and legs. The tears had long since dried and she had not called her father back, having put her phone on ignore. Deciding that she better face the music and turn her phone back on, Paris checked her messages and it was no surprise that there were several from Danny. Reluctantly and with great protest from Randy, she called her father. Taking a deep breath, she knew that she could handle it. She was calmer now…Vince and Randy giving her strength.

"It's about time you called back, Paris," Danny stated when he answered the phone. Obviously, he had caller ID.

"I've calmed down a bit."

"Good."

"I'm still not coming home. I already talked to Vince."

Danny sighed. "I see. Then, you leave me no choice, Paris…if that's how you want it."

"You do what you need to do, Dad…I'll be fine," Paris told him, shocked that she sounded so confident and strong.

"Just so you know," Danny went on, shifting gears. "I just had some information delivered to me and your boyfriend is a military deserter…did you know that?"

Paris sighed and rolled her eyes. Leave it to Danny to deliver a low parting shot. "Yes, I knew that and there's a lot more to the story."

Danny snorted. "He enlisted in the Marine Corps, decided he didn't like it, went AWOL for 82 days, and he went to jail…what more could there be?"

"Coming from someone who's an expert on being incarcerated!"

"Be very careful, Paris," Danny warned, his voice low.

"Honey, we're just worried about you," Tess' voice broke in. Apparently, her mother was on the other line.

"Mom, I'm fine, OK? I told you that in New York! I've never been happier, I'm not throwing up, everything is great, OK?"

"So you're not coming home? That's your final decision?"

"I'm not coming home," Paris stated only to be greeted with a click. "Did he just hang up?" she asked Tess.

"He's just concerned, Paris."

"He's the one who sent me here!" Paris exclaimed, incredulous. "What? Is he mad because I like it? Was he hoping I'd be totally miserable or something?"

"Of course not. I guess he just didn't anticipate that you'd enjoy it this much and neither did I. And then, there's this boy…"

"He's not a boy, he's a man, and why is Dad nosing into his past?"

"Paris, you're the heiress to over 50 million. When a young man enters your life, you had best believe that your father and I are going to have him thoroughly checked out."

There was a knock on the door, indicating the arrival of their dinner. Before answering the door, Randy threw a towel over Paris' naked body as she continued talking to her mom.

Paris sighed once again. "Look, Mom, I gotta go…our dinner just got here. I'll be in St. Louis until Friday and I'll call you when I get settled in Louisville. Tell Dad that I love him and no matter what he does, I understand. He has to do what he has to do."

"I love you, Paris," Tess told her.

"I love you, too, Mom."

Paris bid her mother goodnight and hung up. Putting on a robe, she joined Randy at the table for their late dinner, even though she wasn't very hungry. Randy was quiet during the meal as well, trying to come to terms with the fact that Danny Ocean had already had him investigated and without ever meeting him, decided that he didn't like him. It was all a little unsettling.

"Are you OK?" Paris asked, pushing a piece of lettuce around on her plate.

"Fine, how bout you?"

"Fine, I'm just not that hungry. You look upset."

"I guess I'm just a little out of sorts," the young Evolution member admitted. "I haven't even met your parents and your dad already hates me. And he's having me investigated."

Paris waved her hand. "He investigates all my boyfriends…it's because I'm heiress to a fortune."

"Well, I'm not after your money."

"I know that."

Randy chuckled lightly. "I hope he at least gives me a chance some day."

Paris smiled and touched his arm, tracing her finger over his tattoo. "He will. He's just stubborn. It's throwing him for a loop that he can't call the shots."

Randy nodded, still perplexed about something.

"Can I ask you a question, Paris?"

"Sure."

"I thought I heard something when you were on the phone…something about throwing up. What was that all about?"

Paris shifted nervously, pushing her plate away. "I…I used to…sort of…I used to have a little problem with eating, that's all."

"A little problem with eating?"

"As in I didn't do it. And when I did, it…kind of…"

"Came right back up?"

"Yeah."

Randy could tell she was embarrassed. Reaching over, he took her hand in his.

"Are you OK now?" he asked, his blue eyes mirrored with concern.

Paris nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah, I'm OK…I'm just really not hungry. I've ate like three times today. I look OK, don't I?"

Randy kissed her hand. "You look great. How long ago was this?"

"When I was like fifteen or sixteen. I got kind of depressed and I got really busy with school and I just didn't eat. I got really skinny and I was flat-chested…my self-esteem was in the dirt. My parents finally took me to a doctor and then, some head doctors. They determined in their infinite wisdom that I was a victim of relentlessly perfectionist parents that I was constantly trying to win their love and approval. I hate shrinks."

"Yeah, I'm not too fond of them either."

"You've seen a shrink?"

"Yeah. When I got out of prison, my dad made me go talk to someone because I wouldn't talk about it with anyone. He was worried."

"So was it like on TV?"

"No, nothing like that. Military prison is a lot different than regular prison. It's very lonely because you're alone most of the time. And stop changing the subject…we're talking about you, remember?"

"There's nothing more to tell. I started eating, I gained weight—too much at first, but I found a balance eventually. Then, I had my boob job—that boosted my confidence a lot. And it made me really popular."

"Yet you're still a virgin?"

"Yeah, well…" Paris trailed off, laughing slightly out of embarrassment.

"Yeah," Randy agreed, stretching. "On that note, I think I'll go to bed…how about you?"

"I thought you'd never ask…I'm exhausted."

Randy put the dishes in the hallway as Paris climbed into bed, not bothering with a nightgown. Randy turned out the lights and climbed in as well, spooning next to Paris. To his surprise, he realized that she wasn't wearing pajamas.

"Where are your pajamas?"

"Umm…they were…stolen," she teased.

"Someone stole your pajamas?" Randy asked, sitting up slightly and staring at her in the dark.

"What kind of a world do we live in when a person's pajamas aren't safe?"

"Well, I just don't know if I can control myself…what with your pajamas being…missing and all."

Paris was immediately awake, realizing that this could be an opening to seduce the Legend Killer. Turning over, she seductively wrapped her body around his as he captured her lips in a kiss. Randy groaned, knowing exactly where this was heading, but this time he was too weak to fight it. Rolling on top of her, his hands immediately found her breasts as she twined her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. Paris arched her back, feeling his arousal as his tongue probed her mouth, gently at first and then, more insistently. Reaching down, Paris ran her nails down Randy's back and toyed with the waistband of his boxers. This was it—there was no way he could resist her this time.

Paris felt Randy pull away from her. Suddenly, the lamp was on and she blinked against the soft light. Randy was raised above her, looking down at her, his eyes smoldering, the intent obvious. Finally, Paris thought, getting a little nervous with anticipation. Before she knew what was happening, Randy's boxers flew across the room and he gripped her thighs, pulling her against him as he rained kisses down her neck and across her chest. Oh my God, Paris thought as she felt his lips trail across her stomach. She knew where he was headed and he would get no argument from her. Smiling, Randy teased her for several minutes, placing kisses all along her legs and on the insides of her thighs before he actually reached his final destination. Paris jumped, arching her hips as his tongue touched her, softly, intimately. Randy paused, waiting for her reaction. He looked up to see that her head was thrown back, her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing, and her lips were parted invitingly. Smirking and wishing that Paul knew what he was doing at that moment, Randy resumed his slow and heated torture of the very receptive, intoxicatingly beautiful Miss Paris, not stopping until he was positive that he had taken her to the edge no less than two or three times, leaving her breathless as she sighed his name repeatedly, trying to control her breathing and stop her brain from spinning out of control.

As Paris calmed down, Randy kissed his way up her body, a thin sheen of sweat mixing with her perfume to turn him on even more. Sighing, he collapsed next her on the bed, stroking her damp hair and face as he gazed into her violet eyes. He knew that they couldn't go any farther…not yet anyway, but this was more than they had ever done, and it left Randy wanting more and hating himself for the mess he was in with Paul. He had to find a way to stop it. He was jolted out of his brooding by the sensation of Paris' lips on his, kissing him passionately. She had pushed him onto his back and was placing feathery kisses on his chest that felt like little flames burning his skin. Randy closed his eyes and ran his hand through her hair, relishing the feeling of her tongue piercing trailing down his abs, until it dawned on him where she was going. Panicking, he grabbed her shoulders, stopping her procession.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his gaze meeting hers.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Paris replied.

"I have a pretty good idea."

"So why don't you just lay back and enjoy it? I'm a firm believer in returning the favor."

"I thought you were a virgin."

Paris blinked, dismayed but not surprised that he was being so uptight. "You can still be a virgin and know how to give a blowjob, Randy."

"Paris!"

"What! Is there something wrong with that?"

Randy's mind was swimming. She wasn't supposed to know about stuff like that. Blowjobs were something that guys usually got from ring rats and desperate diva wannabes, not from their wives or their girlfriends. Not that Randy had ever been into ring rats or divas for that matter, but plenty of the guys were. Of course, Paris would wonder what harm could come from some oral gratification. What excuse was he going to use this time?

"No, there's nothing wrong with it. It's just that I'm not into that tonight."

Paris was baffled. Since when was a guy not into getting a blowjob? Paul seemed to enjoy it…no, don't think about Paul, she screamed at herself. OK, think, Paris. He's trying to weasel out again. Make it so he can't say no.

"OK," she replied cheerfully. "We can skip that and just go right to the sex if you want."

Randy's brain continued to race, while trying to block out how sexy she looked, kneeling naked next to him. Now was not a good time to try and tell her about Paul and the bet, not with all the stress from her dad and her new job on top of everything.

"Paris, maybe we should just go to sleep before this goes any further."

Paris sniffed, upset. "Randy, why don't you want to have sex with me? Is there something wrong with me?"

He noticed a tear fall down her cheek because it landed on his chest. Now, he felt like an even bigger asshole. He took her into his arms and pulled her down next to him.

"Baby, no…it's not you. It's just…"

"What?"

Randy took a deep breath. "I…I don't have any condoms." Nice job chickening out, Orton.

"Is that it?" Paris inquired incredulously.

"Yeah, that's pretty important."

"Well, go get some."

Randy sighed. She was relentless and it wasn't going to get any easier. "Baby, I'm tired. I just got relaxed…"

"OK, OK…I know the drill…not tonight! Goodnight, Randy."

With that, she climbed under the covers and rolled over, scooting as far away from him as she could.

Swearing quietly to himself, Randy rolled over as well and flipped off the lamp. Fuck! How much longer could he keep this up?

**Please review. Only a few more chapters to go and then, it's time to do the sequel. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Keep it coming please. Love ya…**

**-Evilution**


	22. Gifts and Curses

Chapter 22 – Gifts and Curses

By Evilution

Disclaimer: I only own Paris and Amanda and nothing else. Good luck getting anything if you want to litigate. Thanks to my friend, Emily, for the Eileen and Ralph comment. Also, the lines from the last chapter about the stolen pajamas are from the movie 'The Mask.'

Paris woke up the next morning feeling stiff and cramped, mostly because she had been so relaxed when she fell asleep that she stayed in the same position all night. Randy was already awake and had showered. He was just zipping up his pants and tucking his shirt in when Paris sat up, stretching languidly.

"Good morning," he said, a secret smile tugging at his lips.

"Morning," Paris replied.

"Listen, Paris, I'm sorry about last night, OK? I just didn't think that it was the best thing at the time, what with all the excitement over your new job and the stuff with your dad and…"

Paris smiled slightly. "It's OK, Randy, really. You and I love each other and I know it's gonna happen. Don't worry…I can be patient for a little while longer."

Randy grinned. "Just a little while?"

"Well, I'm leaving in less than a week."

"That doesn't mean I can't visit you, and you'd best believe I will with Adam Copeland lurking around."

Paris shook her head, blinking at Randy as if he were an impossible little boy. "I thought we settled this last night."

Randy cleared his throat, not wanting to argue with her again. But as he took a closer look at her, he realized she was just teasing.

"So you're not mad?" the Legend Killer prompted.

Paris smiled as she slid out of bed, crossed the room, and gave Randy a kiss on the cheek, deliberately pressing ever inch of her naked body against him.

"No, Orton, I'm not mad," she whispered before skipping off to the bathroom.

Randy exhaled sharply as she left, desperately wishing that he had the ability to kick his own ass. It's only for a few more days, he told himself. He was literally counting the hours until Paris left for OVW and was away from Paul. Then, once she got settled, Randy figured he could visit her, tell her the truth, and hopefully, after she forgave him, they could finally consummate their relationship. He knew that a long distance relationship would be hard, especially with all the temptations that would be surrounding Paris in her new role as a diva, not to mention Adam Copeland. He knew in his heart that they could make it work.

Paris closed her eyes as the hot water coursed over her body. Memories of last night came flooding back. Her fight with Danny had been emotionally draining and not only had Randy been there for her, but he had done everything in his power to distract her from her problems. She couldn't believe that she had told him about her eating disorder. She never told anyone about that. The only people who knew were her parents and Amanda. It was a testament to how much she trusted the young Evolutionary. Too bad she didn't deserve his trust in return. The sex thing was frustrating as always, but Paris hadn't been lying to Randy when she said she wasn't mad. She was too familiar with the routine to be mad. Every time he put her off, she would get upset, they would go to bed, and in the morning, everything was back to normal. Paris wasn't sure she could take much more. Hopefully, the idea of her leaving would spur Randy to action. But Paris didn't want to get her hopes up too high, only to be disappointed and frustrated once again. She had to admit that the possibility did seem more imminent, especially after last night, and that not only gave her hope, but it made her happy as well. Her life was perfect. She was 20 years old, on her own, about to become a WWE diva, and she was the girlfriend of The Legend Killer himself, Randy Orton. It couldn't get much better than that.

An hour later, Paris was at the airport hugging Amy goodbye as the red-headed diva boarded a flight to Raleigh. She was going home to North Carolina without Dave this time to visit her mom and do some volunteer work at her favorite animal shelter. She hated to be away from Dave, but she had been neglecting the shelter ever since her return to the ring and she desperately needed some mother/daughter quality time with her mom.

Paris flew to St. Louis with Randy and Dave and while she expected the next few days to drag as she anticipated her departure for OVW, they went by surprisingly fast. Dave came over for dinner and a movie on Tuesday night, but ended up spending a great deal of time on his cell phone with Amy. A blind man could see that the Queen of Xtreme and the Monster of Evolution were totally and completely falling in love. On Wednesday night, Paris went out clubbing with Randy, Dave, Charlie Haas, and Mark Jindrak, who both lived in St. Louis as well, and were friends with Randy and Dave from their OVW days. John Cena had also been invited since the SmackDown stars were also on their days off, but he had chosen to go to Louisville to visit his girlfriend, Katie—the OVW designer.

On Thursday morning, Randy got a call from Cena, requesting that the Legend Killer pick him up at the airport. Apparently, things were not going well in the long distance relationship between Katie Carlisle and John Cena, and the Doctor of Thuganomics chose to come home a day early. Paris went with Randy to the airport and Cena ended up spending most of the day at Randy's house, but he didn't seem to want to talk about his woman problems. That night, John went with Randy and Paris to Randy's parents' house for dinner. Paris finally got to meet Bob and Elaine Orton, as well as Randy's sister, Becky, who was the same age as Paris, and his brother, Nathan, who was still in high school. She also got to meet his grandfather, who took an instant liking to her. In fact, Randy's entire family was very impressed with Paris. Bob and Elaine found her to be polite and intelligent, a perfect match for their son. She hit it off amazingly well with Becky, whose stories about all the boys and frat parties at the University of Missouri made Paris wax nostalgic for her days at UNLV. Becky was a sophomore, going to school on a volleyball scholarship. Imagine her surprise when she found out Paris had played volleyball for UNLV. Nathan was in every sense, a typical teenager, teetering on the edge of manhood. He displayed a somewhat casual, teenage cockiness and tried to act unaffected by his older brother's success, but he continued to badger Paris to introduce him to Trish Stratus, Lita, and Stacy Keibler, even though Randy told him that he had known all three women for several years. It seemed as if Paris fit in just right with Randy's family.

However, the star of the evening was without a doubt, none other than John Cena. Obviously, Elaine and Bob had met John before as he was one of Randy's best friends and they were somewhat used to his antics. Upon their arrival, he promptly told Elaine very lasciviously that Randy never told him that he had two younger sisters. Elaine giggled girlishly and slapped his arm, calling him Jonathan and telling him to stop. Throughout the evening, Cena took every opportunity to flirt with Elaine, until Randy demanded that he cease and desist, saying that he felt like Stifler in 'American Pie' trying to keep Finch away from his mother. Of course, even Randy calling him 'shit break' didn't deter John. Bob simply sat back and watched the scene with amusement, declaring that boys would be boys. When they left, Paris thanked Bob and Elaine for a lovely evening and promised to visit again. Randy was busy trying to distract John, so that the Doctor didn't try to cop a goodnight hug from his mom. However, John was sneaky and managed to corner Elaine for a quick hug and kiss before Randy chased him out the door and tackled him the front yard.

The next morning, Paris flew to Fargo, North Dakota with Randy and Dave where they met up with Paul and Amy for the start of the weekend house shows. On Saturday, they would be in Bismarck, North Dakota and on Sunday—Paris' last night—they were in Peoria, Illinois. The rest of the RAW roster would be driving to Chicago for RAW on Monday, September 29th, and Paris would be flying to Louisville, Kentucky. The SmackDown roster was in Manitoba—Chris' hometown—on Saturday and Sunday, Valparaiso, Indiana on Monday, and then, they were taping SmackDown on Tuesday in Milwaukee.

After the show on Friday, Shane gave Paris a bunch of paperwork to fill out for her transfer to OVW, so she stayed in for the night to work on it, while Randy went out with Dave, Amy, and Paul. Paris was asleep by the time they got back, so she really didn't have a chance to spend any intimate time with her boyfriend, much to her chagrin. Of course, it was nice feeling Randy snuggle up next to her in bed, but before she could make a move, he was sound asleep.

The next day, they got up extremely early and drove the two hundred and some miles to Bismarck for the Saturday house show. Amazingly, it wasn't snowing, but September in North Dakota was unusually cold, colder than any of them were used to and there was some snow on the ground and blowing across the roads, causing icy conditions in some areas. Randy drove with Amy in the front seat since it never failed that the extreme diva always got car sick when she had to ride in the back. Paris, who was still exhausted and had a headache from reading all of her paperwork, stretched out in the backseat of the Durango with her feet draped across Dave's legs and her head on Paul's lap. This didn't please Randy, but unfortunately, he wasn't in a position to do anything about it, having to keep his eyes on the road. When they got to the hotel later that afternoon, Paris was cornered by Amy, Trish, Lisa, Lillian, Stacy, and Jackie, who all wanted to take her out for a 'girls night out' after the show to celebrate her promotion to a diva. Paris told Randy of her plans and he agreed that it was cool, saying he'd stay in and play cards or grab a movie with Dave.

After the show, Paris showered and changed into her favorite hip hugger jeans, her black Doc Martins, and a tight, low-cut black shirt with elbow length sleeves. The other divas came to pick her up, saying they were going to some place called Pirates of the Lost Cove for a bite to eat and then, Borrowed Buck's Roadhouse for drinks and dancing. As they were leaving, Paul stopped by to join in on Randy and Dave's card game. Naturally, the men's idle chit chat reverted to a familiar subject.

"So, Randy," the Game interjected. "Made any headway on our little wager?"

Before Randy could answer, Dave snorted with irritation, threw his cards down, and rose from the table. God, he just didn't know when to stop. Rolling his eyes, Dave began to walk away, thoroughly sick of hearing about the bet.

"Excuse me," the Enforcer replied, annoyed.

"Where're you going?" Paul asked.

"I'm gonna go take a piss or jack off or something equally interesting," Dave snapped, sarcastically as he exited the room, slamming the door in his wake. Randy wondered where he was going since it was also he and Amy's room.

"What's his problem?" Paul questioned.

"Maybe it was the topic of conversation," Randy remarked mirthlessly.

Paul chuckled. "You didn't think that just because I backed off that I've forgotten, did you?"

"What? You think I'm stupid?" Randy said, smiling sardonically as he studied his cards.

"So what exactly is the scenario here, Randy? You have every opportunity in the world to nail this girl…"

"Be very careful, Paul," the Legend Killer warned, indicating that he didn't appreciate how Paul was referring to his girlfriend.

Paul snorted, but ignored the taunt. "So what gives?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"No, we can't. Now, answer the question."

"Paris is under a lot of stress right now, OK? She's going to OVW…leaving everyone she knows. Plus, her dad's on her case…"

"About what?"

Randy hesitated, reluctant to share anything personal with Paul, as he always found some way to use it against him. "He wants her to come home."

"Why?"

"Other than he doesn't like me…I don't know why."

"He's never even met you."

"No, but he's already had me checked out…knows about my military shit and everything."

Paul scoffed, not surprised at Randy's naïveté. "Can you blame the guy? I mean, seriously. His daughter's worth several millions of dollars. He can't afford to let some ass clown, as Jericho would say, come in and steal his little girl…and her fortune."

"I'm not after her money."

"He doesn't know that," Paul replied, smirking.

Randy shrugged and then, they were silent for several minutes, both examining their cards, contemplating their next move.

"Hey, Orton," Paul broke in.

"Yeah?"

"I know I'm gonna regret this, but I guess I oughta give you a break. Jesus, I think losing my title to Goldberg has addled my brain. I must be getting senile or something."

"What do you mean?" Randy asked, wary. He hated it when Paul spoke in riddles. It only meant that he was up to something.

"Look, I know you have feelings for Paris and since she's leaving and all…"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm not the heartless bastard you all seem to think I am…not all the time anyway. Why don't we just call it a draw, OK?"

"You mean call off the bet?" Randy replied skeptically.

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not? I mean, she's obviously made her choice." He smirked inwardly, knowing that he and Paris still had a couple of secrets between them.

"Jeez, Paul, I didn't know you had it in you," Randy scoffed.

"Orton, I'm wounded," Paul commented with mock hurt, only to receive a derisive snort from the Legend Killer.

"Of course, I'm only talking about after Paris leaves," the Cerebral Assassin went on slyly. "The next 24 hours are fair game."

"I should have known there was a catch," Randy retorted with sarcasm. "But, hey…she's gonna be getting ready for her trip. You probably won't even see much of her."

"Exactly," Paul agreed. "What could happen in a mere 24 hours?" He smirked suggestively.

Randy cocked his eyebrow arrogantly. "Between you and Paris? As if."

Paul laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny though?" he taunted.

Randy ignored him and continued to stare at his cards as Dave rejoined them. He didn't think it was the least bit funny, but then again, Paul's sense of humor left something to be desired as far as Randy was concerned.

"What would be funny?" Dave inquired.

"Nothing," Randy explained. "We just decided to call the bet off after Paris leaves."

"I'm glad to see you're both finally out of junior high," Dave remarked. Nevertheless, he didn't trust Paul any more than Randy did and he hoped that his young teammate wasn't that naïve. Paul wasn't known as The Cerebral Assassin for nothing.

"Raise you fifty," Paul said, throwing some chips on the table.

"Check," Dave responded, matching the bet. "So what about until she leaves?"

"That's still open season," Paul replied. "Sure you don't want back in, big man? It's a hundred bucks."

Dave shook his head, amazed at Paul's arrogance and lack of tact. "Always a catch, right, Game?"

"It's 24 hours," Randy interjected, impatiently. "What could happen in 24 hours?"

"The mind boggles…" Dave said quietly, continuing to shake his head as Paul smirked evilly behind his cards. Dave wondered exactly what in the hell he was up to. If it involved hurting Paris, he would not only have Randy to deal with, but Dave as well.

Unfortunately, Dave didn't have a lot of time to brood about it because he won the hand and the conversation switched back to idle chit chat and macho guy talk. They continued to play until sometime around 2 AM when a knock at the door interrupted a particularly high stakes hand. Randy rose and answered the door to find Lillian, Stacy and Jackie standing in the hallway, looking exasperated, but relatively sober.

"Ladies…"

"We need your help," Stacy interrupted, grabbing Randy by the arm and dragging him into the hallway as Paul and Dave followed suit.

Randy stepped into the hall, only to see Trish and Amy practically holding each other up and Lisa trying to lift Paris off of the floor. All four divas were laughing hysterically and Randy noticed that Paris' coat and shirt were unexplainably missing. Stacy smiled apologetically as she handed Paris' coat, shirt, and purse to Randy.

Randy turned and threw Paris' things into their room, trying not to seem annoyed.

"Why is she in her bra?" he asked.

"Oh, she thought it would be funny to streak from the taxi to the hotel being that it's only 50 below zero outside!" Jackie explained sarcastically.

Randy sighed. "Why did you guys let her get so wasted?"

"It wasn't us," Lillian told him. "It was all the drunk cowboys at Borrowed Buck's that kept buying her shots of God knows what."

Randy shook his head as he leaned down and easily picked Paris up. He carried her into their room and laid her on the bed.

"Sorry, guys—I guess the card game's over."

"Just when I was about to clean you guys out," Paul added.

"I think this one needs to go to bed, too," Dave commented, pulling Amy into the room as she fell face first against his chest.

When Dave grabbed Amy, Trish lost the only thing that was holding her up and almost fell if Paul hadn't caught her. Lillian, who was exasperated with all the antics, promptly bid everyone goodnight and headed off to her room on the upper floor.

"I'll deliver this one to Jericho and let him deal with her," Paul offered, supporting Trish and leading her to Jericho's room a couple doors down.

"Can you two handle her?" Dave asked, pointing at Lisa, who was still on the floor.

"Sure, she's rooming with us anyway," Stacy said as she and Jackie helped Lisa to her feet and headed down the hallway in the opposite direction of Paul.

Randy and Dave waited until they saw the girls enter their room and then, glanced in the other direction as they heard a very loud, very stunned 'What the fuck' from Chris Jericho as Paul dropped the inebriated blond diva into the Canadian's arms and bid everyone goodnight before disappearing around the corner. The boys laughed, imagining Y2J's face, but their mirth was interrupted by Amy, who shoved them both out of the way and made a beeline for the bathroom, where Dave and Randy were greeted with the pleasant sounds of violent retching. Dave shook his head and joined his girlfriend on the bathroom floor where he put a cool washcloth on the back of her neck and held her fiery hair back as she continued to throw up. Randy noticed that Paris was already passed out and he was amazed that she wasn't meeting Eileen and Ralph at that moment as well. That would probably come the next morning, he noted, as he removed her boots and pants, tucked the blanket around her, and crawled under the covers himself. A few moments later, he saw Dave carry Amy effortlessly to their bed and tuck her in as well.

The next morning, Randy awoke before anyone else. After showering, he opened the drapes to see that large snowflakes were falling and several inches had already accumulated on the ground. Paris flinched as the sunlight streamed in and Amy groaned, sticking her head under the covers. Dave snorted with amusement as he got out of bed and started to make some coffee with the complimentary coffee maker. It was still pretty early and the boys knew that Paris and Amy had only gotten a couple hours of sleep and wouldn't be in the best of moods on this bright and snowy morning.

"Oh God…" Paris moaned, sitting up and holding her head.

"How ya feeling, Princess?" Randy asked loudly as he leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest, smirking.

"Like shit!" Paris shouted, which caused her head to hurt and another groan to come from Amy's direction.

"Must have been all the drunk cowboys buying you shots," Randy remarked.

Paris groaned and squinted, trying to focus on her boyfriend so she could flip him off, but when she opened her eyes, her head started spinning and her stomach did the ghastliest flip flops she had ever felt. Before Randy could make a move, she flung the covers off and ran past Dave into the bathroom. Randy quickly followed as he heard the toilet lid slam and Paris began heaving violently. He grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water just as Dave had done with Amy only hours earlier. He sat down behind Paris and pulled her hair back out of her face. Paris started crying as she continued to heave but nothing came up. Finally, it stopped and she slumped backwards, sitting on Randy's lap as she buried her face in the cold washcloth. Randy leaned back against the bathtub and held her, gently stroking her hair and back as Dave joined them, leaning in the doorway.

"You know its true love when you hold your chick's hair while she pukes," Evolution's Monster told Randy.

Randy laughed softly as he continued to comfort Paris. Amy joined them as well, looking like hammered shit and announcing that she had to "pee like a racehorse." Randy went to pick Paris up, but the soon-to-be diva sunk her nails into his chest, begging him not to move for at least a couple more minutes. He shrugged apologetically at Amy.

"But I've really gotta go," the red-head complained.

"So go," Randy told her. "I promise I won't look."

Amy sighed and did her business as Randy averted his eyes, smirking insolently the whole time.

"I love having to pee with an audience," Amy mumbled as she finished, flushed, and then, sat down on the floor in front of Randy and Paris. She reached over and gently rubbed Paris' back as Dave handed her a cup of strong coffee.

"God, I'm glad it all came up last night," Amy lamented. "Never pass out with it in your stomach—it always haunts you in the morning."

Paris smiled weakly at her friend as Randy stood and helped her and Amy to their feet. Paris flushed realizing that she was standing there in front of Dave wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Of course, he didn't seem to mind and Paris really didn't care at that point either. She just wanted the jackhammer going off in her head to stop.

"I'm never drinking again," she declared.

"That's what we all say," Dave told her.

"But I mean it."

"Why don't you ladies flip for the shower and Dave and I'll get everything packed?"

"Paris can go first," Amy offered. "I need a little more coffee and she looks like she needs it worse than I do."

Dave stroked his goatee, mockingly. "I don't know…you both look like death warmed over."

"Fuck you," Amy said, slapping his arm and causing coffee to spill on him.

"Oww…bitch."

Amy smirked. "You like it, I know. And excuse me, but I think it's you who's my bitch, not the other way around."

Dave smiled, slapping her ass as she ran by. "Sorry, Paris…we'll let you have some privacy."

"Yeah, Amy might be able to pee with an audience and I'm not totally opposed that that either if I really have to go, but I draw the line at community showering."

"She's back to her old self," Randy said as he and Dave nodded sarcastically at each other. He kissed her forehead before both men exited the bathroom.

They didn't have very much time, so Paris quickly got dressed and blew her hair dry while Amy used the shower. Then, she put on a little make-up so she didn't look like a walking corpse. Her warm coat and sunglasses to block out the glaring white snow were the finishing touches. The girls brought the last of the luggage downstairs where Randy and Dave loaded it into the warmed-up vehicle. Paul had already left earlier that morning and was probably already at the arena, going over the show. Randy drove very slowly to the airport where their flight was slightly delayed because of the snow. They finally took off and Paris slept the entire flight, her head resting on Randy's shoulder. They landed in Peoria around two o'clock, later than expected because of the delay, and it was starting to snow there, too. They had an early house show, starting at five and lasting until about seven o'clock, so they had just enough time to get to the hotel, get checked in, and freshen up before heading to the arena. Rushing slightly, Randy secured a rental SUV while Dave, Amy, and Paris picked up the luggage.

When they got to the hotel, Paul had already checked them into their room. For some reason, they were in a huge suite with a king sized bed and another bedroom for Paul as well as having another single room with an adjoining door that had its own entrance into the hallway. So essentially they had two rooms. Paul simply shrugged and said that Shane thought Paris might like her own room on her last night. Amy was supposed to be rooming with Lisa, but would probably end up staying with Dave anyway. After they got everything carried into the hotel, Paris noticed that Randy had put his things in the adjoining room with hers and Amy had already taken her luggage to Lisa's room. Paris decided to take another shower and freshened up while everyone packed their gear for the night. She slipped into a black WWE T-shirt and one of the tan miniskirts Colleen gave her. Randy warned her that it was cold out, but unfortunately, all of her khakis were dirty. She had planned on visiting a Laundromat as soon as she got to OVW. Paris assured Randy that it was only a short ride from the hotel to the arena and that the arena was usually hotter than Hades anyway, so she wasn't worried about being cold. He shrugged as she zipped up her brand new pair of knee-high black boots, having to admit to himself that she looked damn hot in that little skirt and those high boots.

After what seemed like forever, they finally met up with Ric and headed to the Civic Center around three o'clock for the house show. Paris quickly got everyone's costumes and started marking the script while Ric went to take care of some things with Eric Bischoff, Amy went to the divas locker room to say hi, and Shane came to get Randy and Dave to talk to them about the show and to go over a few things with Randy about RAW the next night. Paris was concentrating so hard on the script that she didn't even realize that she was alone in the locker room with Paul. Lately, she being alone with Paul was never a very good idea. Things always seemed to happen that she had no control over. It was a strange, rather unnerving effect that he had on her.

"Hey," Paul greeted, approaching her.

Paris looked up and smiled. "Hey, yourself."

"I just wanted to say goodbye to you without everyone hanging around…you know," he explained, uncharacteristically awkward.

"I'm not leaving until tomorrow, Paul."

"I know, but…I got you something."

Paris's eyes lit up with surprise and joy. She loved getting presents, especially from wealthy men. "What is it?"

"Well, first things first…you're gonna have to take off your boots."

"What?"

"Just humor me, OK?"

Paris looked at him skeptically as she bent and unzipped her boots. She kicked them off and stood before him, a good four inches shorter than she was before.

"Close your eyes," Paul ordered.

Paris hesitated slightly, not sure if she trusted him entirely. After several moments, she sighed impatiently and closed her eyes. She could hear him moving around and sensed that he was close to her, but she didn't know what he was doing. She jumped as she felt him touch her leg and then, she realized that he was clasping a bracelet around her ankle. As he stood up, Paul couldn't resist sliding his hand up her leg, feeling its silky smoothness.

"OK, you can look now."

Paris opened her eyes and looked down at her ankle. She expected to see something like a charm bracelet or some other type of trinket. Imagine her shock when she noticed that the item was a diamond tennis anklet. It was tiny and delicate, but definitely stunning and absolutely diamond.

"Oh my God, Paul…I can't accept this."

Paul scoffed. "Don't be stupid…you're allowed to accept gratuity and you've done a good job these last three weeks. It's my way of saying thanks."

She shook her head. "It's just so extravagant."

"It's a trinket really," Paul commented casually. "Beautiful women deserve beautiful jewelry."

"What if Randy sees it?"

Paul smirked, snorting with mirth. "Well, then my suggestion would be, sweetheart, that you put these dominatrix boots back on ASAP."

Paris laughed as she quickly slipped her feet back into her boots and zipped them up, shielding Paul's gift from any prying eyes. As she stood up, she threw her arms around the Cerebral Assassin, hugging him tightly. He was shirtless and she gasped at the sensation of his bare skin against her face.

"Thank you…for the anklet and for being my friend," she whispered, inhaling his scent.

Paul smirked as he hugged her back. As she went to pull away, he bent his head and captured her lips, kissing her softly. Paris kissed him back hungrily, the weeks of being starved for physical attention from Randy finally taking their toll. Paul moved backwards and sat down on the couch, deftly pulling Paris with him in one swift motion, causing her to straddle his lap and forcing her skirt to ride up slightly. Paul ran his hands along her silky thighs, pushing her skirt up even farther. Paris locked her knees at Paul's hips and pressed against him, feeling herself becoming physically aroused. It was the same desire that Randy always ignited in her, building up to a fever pitch but never getting any release.

Throwing caution to the wind, Paris began to grind her hips sensually against Paul, feeling his erection through his jeans. He groaned slightly and broke the kiss to gaze deeply into Paris' eyes before assaulting her lips once again. He pulled Paris' T-shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor, grasping her breasts and letting his fingers trail along the black lace of her bra, teasing her nipples torturously. With one hand, he popped the front clasp on her bra open, freeing her breasts as the bra also fell to the floor. Paris continued to rock seductively against him as he trailed his lips across her chest, his tongue delicately tracing around each of her nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks. Suddenly, Paris jumped, somewhat startled. What if someone walked in?

"Everything OK?" Paul asked, his face still between her breasts.

"The…door?" Paris gasped, barely able to speak.

"It locks from the inside. Anyone wants in, they have to knock."

Paris nodded, relaxing somewhat even though she knew what she was doing was wrong. Paul continued to rain kisses across her breasts, his hands tightly gripping her back. Paris threw her head back as his lips moved up her neck, his teeth lightly nipping her skin.

"Oh God, Paul…please…" Paris whispered feverishly.

Paul looked up. "You want me to stop?"

Paris shook her head no and Paul smirked—a somewhat evil smirk, 100 Triple H. Of course, she didn't want him to stop. She was too busy getting off and he would have bet his last dollar that Randy Orton was the furthest thing from her mind. Paris gazed at Paul, tracing her fingers along his chiseled jaw, pressing her breasts against his chest. He stared back at her, his eyes delving into her soul and for a brief moment, she felt that glimmer of fear that he always seemed to elicit, but she quickly pushed it away. She felt Paul's hand reach between her legs and with a jerk and a snap, he ripped her thong off and threw it on the floor. Paris gasped loudly as his fingers began to probe insistently. She closed her eyes, hearing him inhale sharply as she relaxed the vice-like grip that her thighs had on his hips, allowing him easier access.

"Look at me," Paul ordered, breaking her concentration.

Paris' eyelids fluttered open, her violet orbs meeting his flashing dark eyes. He smirked triumphantly as he pushed two fingers inside of her. Paris began to cry out, but he silenced her by bringing his lips harshly and demandingly to hers. Paris kissed him deeply, moving her hips against his hand as he slowly and then more rapidly thrust in and out of her. Paul released her lips and breathlessly buried his face in her neck as she continued to ride against him, gasping with pleasure.

"Oh my God…Paul!" Paris cried, her voice a choked whisper.

"God, you are so fucking hot!" he murmured in her ear, pausing what he was doing.

"Don't stop!" she demanded feverishly.

"And tight, too…Jesus!" he went on, resuming his erotic torture.

"Oh God!" Paris gasped. "Do you want me, Paul?" she purred seductively.

"Orton's a fucking idiot…if you were mine, I'd fuck you every day," Paul breathed as she reached down and began to undo his pants.

"Promise?" Paris teased.

"Twice…maybe three times," he told her. Deep down, he was kicking himself, hating that she was making him weak, making him want her this badly. He didn't think that there was any way he could lose the bet at this point. In fact, it was almost a sure thing that he was going to seal the deal right now.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Paul."

"I never do."

"Do you want me now?" Paris urged as she pressed against him, tightening her grip on his hips and giving him a hot, lingering kiss.

Paul smirked, ready to not only tell her how bad he wanted to fuck her, but to show her as well. But apparently it wasn't meant to be…not then anyway. Their tryst was rudely interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Paris froze, her body going rigid with fear in Paul's arms.

"What!" Paul shouted, thoroughly annoyed that his plans had been disrupted.

"Dude, it's Randy—let me in," a familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

"Oh my God!" Paris whispered, her eyes growing wide with horror at the thought of Randy walking in on her and Paul. She tried to scramble off of Paul's lap, but The Game sensed her panic and tightened his grip, refusing to let her go.

"Let me go!" Paris hissed through clenched teeth.

"Come on, man!" Randy shouted, knocking louder.

"Keep your pants on, Orton!" Paul yelled back. "I've kinda got my hands full."

With a final smirk, Paul released Paris before rising from the couch, zipping his pants, and striding to the door. Paris barely had enough time to grab her clothes and duck into the bathroom. With a quick backward glance to make sure the coast was clear, Paul opened the door. The Legend Killer stood there, looking irritated.

"Jeez, what the fuck took you so long?" Randy demanded.

"I told you…I had my hands full," Paul replied.

Randy smirked. "Oh, sorry to interrupt while you were wacking off."

"Like I said, my hands were full," Paul retorted sarcastically. If he only knew…it wasn't a matter of Paul pleasuring himself that Randy had interrupted.

Randy rolled his eyes and went to open the bathroom door, but it was locked.

"Sorry, I'll be out in a minute," he heard Paris' voice call.

"Paris?" Randy questioned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at Paul. What was Paris doing in here alone with Paul and why did it take Paul so long to answer the door? Inquiring minds definitely wanted to know.

In the bathroom, Paris had already struggled back into her clothes, stuffing her torn underwear into her skirt pocket where she would dispose of it later. She splashed cold water on her face, resisting the urge to throw up every time she looked in the mirror. God, what was wrong with her? She was totally in love with Randy, yet every time she was around Paul, she seemed to lose all semblance of control. What was this hold he seemed to have on her?

"Paris?" Randy repeated. "Are you OK?" Turning to Paul, he lowered his voice. "Exactly what the hell was going on in here?"

Paul laughed incredulously. "Come on, Randy…I was unpacking my gear and she was reading the script. All of the sudden, she said she didn't feel good and ran into the bathroom. Probably all that drinking last night coming back to haunt her. I was about to check on her when you knocked."

"Oh," Randy replied flatly. He decided to take the high road and relent, but he was still wary, not trusting Paul one iota.

"Come on, Orton…in a locker room?" Paul went on, noticing his young teammate's look of skepticism and reverting into his flawless acting abilities. "Give me a little credit, for Christ's sake!"

Randy ignored him and continued to hover around the bathroom door until finally, it opened and Paris emerged, looking a little peaky.

"Those shots coming back, Princess?" Paul asked, giving her a knowing look.

Paris nodded solemnly as Randy put his arm around her and gently rubbed her back. "You OK, babe?" he asked concerned.

"I'm fine," Paris replied. "I…I just think I need to eat."

"Lemme use the facilities and then we'll head down to catering," Randy suggested as he ducked into the restroom.

Paris nodded as Randy closed the door. She paced the room, trying to ignore her feelings of self-loathing as Paul approached her. Paris forcibly resisted the urge to jump away from him.

"You OK?" he whispered, leaning close.

"That wasn't funny," Paris hissed, a little angry.

Paul snorted. "Fun, but not funny," he retorted, smirking.

"I'm fine, OK?" Paris insisted vehemently as she attempted to walk away from him.

"Good," Paul said as he grabbed her arm and pulled her close so that his lips were right against her ear. "Because we will finish this…one way or another."

With that, he released her arm and strolled casually out of the locker room, leaving Paris to wonder if he really was her friend and maybe that he wasn't such a nice guy after all. Dave and Randy had both said that he didn't become Triple H by being nice to people. Paris just hoped that she hadn't let this situation with her and Paul go beyond her control. Despairingly, she knew that it was already out of control and her only hope in salvaging her dignity was to avoid Paul until tomorrow morning when she left for OVW.

Paris was jolted out of her pondering as Randy exited the bathroom and they headed down to catering to have dinner. After eating, Randy left with Dave to rehearse for their tag team match that night and Amy went to practice for her match with Molly. Paul was nowhere to be found and Paris knew that he wasn't wrestling on the card that night, so she wondered if maybe he went back to the hotel. She went into Evolution's locker room and there was Paul, sitting on the couch reading through some papers. He looked up as she closed the door and smirked pimpishly.

"Oh…" Paris began, noticing him sitting there. "Maybe I better go somewhere else…"

Paul smiled, amused by her discomfort. ""Why? Do I unnerve you that much?"

"Look, this…this whatever it is…"

"Lust?"

"Whatever! It's not cool, OK? I…I love Randy and …"

"I know the whole routine," Paul mocked sarcastically. "You love Randy. Right."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Why would I mock you, Paris? There are so many other things I'd like to do to you." He smirked suggestively as she shifted nervously, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Look, I think we should just avoid each other…you have this effect on me…"

"Is that what you really want?" Paul questioned as he rose off the couch and approached her. Instinctively, Paris backed away.

"Why are you being like this, Paul? I thought you were my friend."

"When I want something, I go after it…simple as that. And I always get what I want."

"But why me? I mean, Randy's your friend…he looks up to you. You really should be ashamed of yourself."

Paul chuckled, fingering a wisp of her blond hair. "Shame? Coming from the girl who was on my lap with her legs spread begging for more?"

Paris' eyes widened with shock. "How dare you!" she spat.

Paul eyes narrowed dangerously as he grabbed her roughly around the waist. He was sick of her games and she wasn't going to make him out as the bad guy, like this was entirely his fault. "How dare I? Listen, Princess, you've been encouraging this from the beginning, am I right?"

Paris struggled to free herself from his grip. "I…I…"

"Am I right?" Paul repeated, enunciating each word just to make sure she heard him.

"OK, fine!" Paris conceded. "I encouraged it! But I love Randy! What the hell do you want from me?"

"You know what I want."

"Well, it's never gonna happen so…"

Paul grabbed her arm and leaned close. "I know you didn't just tell me no," he stated, disbelief crossing his face, his voice low and icy.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Paris snapped, jerking her arm away.

"So I take it we won't be finishing what happened this afternoon?"

"No, we won't."

Paul snorted, shaking his head with frustration. "That's just fucking great! You know, Paris, Randy might get off on your little games, but I find them pretty childish."

"What do you want me to say, Paul?" Paris shouted with disbelief. "This is wrong and you know it!"

"Yeah, it's so wrong…I guess that's why you never told me to stop!"

Paris closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. "Look, this is pointless to keep arguing over whose to blame—we're both equally to blame. There's a physical attraction between us, but that's all it is. You don't love me and I don't love you, OK?"

"So what happens now?" Paul demanded.

Paris swallowed hard. "I'm leaving for OVW tomorrow…Randy and I are gonna have a long distance relationship until I come back and hopefully, you and I can be friends." She knew she was asking a lot, but it was worth a try. After all, she didn't hate Paul…she just knew that it was wrong, what had happened between them.

"You just have it all painted into a pretty little picture, don't you?" Paul taunted. "Unfortunately, the reality is that you and I are measurably more than friends…and Orton isn't the saint you imagine him to be."

"Paul, please…"

"What, Paris? You think Orton's gonna stay faithful to you while you're gone? Princess, he's 23 years old, handsome, famous, rich…come on! Not that I expect any less from you…"

"What does that mean?"

Paul chuckled. "You're 20 years old, on your own for the first time, totally beautiful and desirable…but not very smart. I give it a week or two before Adam Copeland nails you…I know how he works. You think my morals are in the toilet, Paris…I dare you—I just dare you to play your little games with Adam. I guarantee you'll be put in your place and you may not like how he does it."

Paris opened her mouth to retort, but she was so stunned, no words came out. What in the hell had she gotten herself into?

"A piece of advice though," Paul went on. "OVW's a little rougher than WWE. Be careful you don't tease the wrong guy, Paris…they aren't all as nice as I am."

He quickly captured her lips in a hard kiss, biting her lower lip before releasing her and storming out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Paris was shaken by his tirade, but she knew that he was just angry and frustrated because she led him on. She tried to block out his ominous words about Randy, about how he would never stay faithful to her. But even more unsettling were the things he said about Adam Copeland. Paris had just assumed that because Adam was friends with Chris, Trish, and Jay that he was a nice guy. Paul made it sound like he was some sort of predator, just lying in wait to catch a scent of weakness and then, he would pounce. Maybe Paul knew a side of Adam that no one else did. This is ridiculous, Paris told herself, dismissing Paul's warnings as jealous nonsense. He was just trying to scare her because he was pissed off. And as far as things went between her and Randy, she told herself that they would be fine. She would only be in OVW for a couple of months. She and Randy loved each other. They could survive it.

The show went off without a hitch, and after finalizing some last minute preparations with Shane, Paris went back to the hotel with Randy, Dave, and Amy. None of her friends were in the main even that night so they actually got to leave before the show was over. When they got there, it was a little after seven o'clock and their entire floor was in utter chaos as a college football team had checked in for the night due to the snow, and there were several parties going on in various rooms. The din was almost unbearable and Paris actually questioned her and Randy's decision to stay in for the night. However, they decided to stick with that plan since Paris had an early flight in the morning and she had major plans to seduce Randy once and for all that evening. Maybe if they made love, it would send a message to Paul that she meant what she said, that she loved Randy.

Dave and Amy also chose to stay in as did many of the RAW superstars when they arrived at the hotel. It was cold and snowing, and everyone figured that with all the parties going on in the hotel, they could just crash one of those if they wanted to have fun. Dave was exhausted, the house show circuit having its effect on him as he worked off his ring rust. Amy was tired as well, not to mention a bit cranky because she had twisted her repaired neck slightly in her match with Molly. She told Dave apologetically that she wanted to see him later, but that she really needed a nap and since her and Lisa's room was a floor above all the partying, she was going to go lie down there. Dave understood and bid her goodnight, saying he'd see her later. Amy left, telling Paris that she'd be back later and maybe the four of them could watch a movie. After the red-headed diva's departure, Paul emerged from his room and wanted Dave to go check out the parties with him, but Dave tried to beg off, saying he was tired. However, Paul wouldn't take no for an answer, and in the end, Dave followed him out of the room, complaining the whole time that he just wanted to go to sleep.

Paris and Randy retired to the adjoining room where Randy took a shower while Paris got all of her things packed for her flight tomorrow. Randy was pretty exhausted and after his shower, he crawled into bed where he propped himself up and flipped idly through the TV channels, fighting to stay awake. In the bathroom, Paris took a quick shower and covered herself with sexy, shimmering body lotion. She put her favorite perfume in all the right places before slipping into a sexy black thong and an Evolution T-shirt, which she tied in a knot at the waist to show off her legs and her ass. Her thoughts reverted briefly to the ruined thong that she had stuffed in the bottom of the suitcase and her mind replayed the images of how it got ruined, but she quickly pushed those thoughts away, only one goal in sight, and that was to seduce Randy and totally rock his world. After that, anything that had happened with Paul would no longer matter, because she and Randy's relationship would be complete and there would be no more questions. Emerging from the bathroom, she turned off the light and stepped into the room. Randy looked up, his eyes sweeping over her, casually at first and then, more appreciatively.

Yes, the games were over. It was time to seal the deal…once and for all.

**Thank you to all of you cheeky monkeys who reviewed, including westlinggal (Hi, Haley!), lunatic-cupid, Kel88,Fidelitas, XtremeDiva22, LyLTiArApRiNcEsS, Cleo Orton, randylover no1, gurl42069, MrsRKOrton, BQuinn, and of course, justagirl8225—I love reviews of all shapes and sizes. I know there are a lot of questions, but it's all gonna come full circle in the next chapter. I hope no one is disappointed in the ending, but I have a feeling some of you might be (sniff, sniff). Fear not, Paris/Randy lovers—there will be a sequel…it's already halfway done. And remember, it ain't over until the fat lady sings. Even though I could stand to lose a few pounds, I can't sing, so enjoy nonetheless. Love ya all.**

**-Evilution**


	23. The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Inte...

Chapter 23 – The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

By Evilution

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. This chapter may get a little graphic, so if anyone is offended, I'll apologize in advance. Enjoy!

The bathroom door closed with a soft click and Randy Orton's blue eyes flickered briefly over his girlfriend as she stood in the doorway. Once he noticed that she was wearing nothing but a black thong and an Evolution T-shirt, tied at the waist, his gaze became more intense and appreciative. Paris smiled as they locked glances, a fleeting moment of sadness washing over her. In the morning, she was leaving for Louisville, Kentucky to begin her training in Ohio Valley Wrestling to be a WWE diva. It was their last night together for God knows how long and Paris was determined that they would make love before the night was over.

All of her frustration over the last three weeks of him putting her off and pushing her away was about to come to an end. After all this time, she still couldn't understand what the problem was. It wasn't as if there hadn't been a multitude of opportunities because even though Paris, as a female coordinator, was supposed to have her own room or similar arrangements, it was common knowledge that Randy had been sharing her bed for some time. Randy was always sensitive and attentive, always telling her that he loved her and how beautiful she was, but when it came to sex, Paris was starting to lose hope that she would ever lose her virginity.

She noted with pleasure that her presence had caused Randy to become awake and alert, his prior exhaustion seeming to have never existed. His eyes swept over her repeatedly, taking in every inch, lingering in some places longer than others.

"What do you wanna watch, babe?" Randy asked, secretly knowing that TV was probably the last thing on her mind.

"I'm not in the mood for TV," Paris replied, taking the remote control and flipping the TV off.

Before he could protest, Paris climbed on top of Randy, straddling his hips. She smiled, feeling that the mere sight of her already had him aroused. Maybe this actually would be the night. Dipping her head, she kissed him hungrily as his hands roamed her body. After several minutes of hot, intense kissing and touching, Paris decided that she had waited long enough. She no longer had the patience for preliminaries. The anticipation was sufficient foreplay as far as she was concerned. Climbing off of Randy, but continuing to kiss him, she slid her delicate hand into his sweats, gently stroking his erection. Randy closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as her palm swept over the head of his cock and her fingers softly trailed along the length. Unable to take anymore, Randy rolled over on top of Paris, wedging his knee between her legs, forcing her thighs apart. His right hand grasped her left breast where his fingers began toying with her nipple piercing through the thin material of her T-shirt. Paris yelped slightly as he urgently yanked the knot out of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her breasts. Randy buried his face in her neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down her throat and across her breasts to the flat plain of her stomach where his teeth gently tugged on her silver navel ring. He was just about to slide her thong down over her hips when suddenly, he stopped.

"What's wrong?" Paris asked, looking up.

Randy sighed and let his forehead rest on her stomach. God, she was going to kill him if he used another of his tired excuses, but he had to take the risk. It would all be worth it in the end if he was able to protect her from Paul. She would eventually realize that he had nothing but good intentions toward her and their relationship. He tried to ignore the little voice in his head telling him what usually became of good intentions.

"I don't have any condoms," he told her, trying to sound disappointed. In reality, he really was disappointed.

He expected Paris to explode, but instead, she reached back underneath the pillow and pulled out a box of multi-colored condoms.

"You've used that excuse before," she said, sweetly. "So I came prepared this time. What color do you want? I kinda like purple."

"When did you put those there?" Randy questioned, shocked at her ingenuity.

"Earlier, when you were in the bathroom," Paris explained as she began to unwrap the condom. "Come on now…no more stalling."

Randy watched her, somewhat amused. "Paris, I don't…"

"What? You don't know how to put one on?" she interrupted. "Here, I'll help you." Once again, her hand slid into his sweats.

"Wait!" Randy said, grabbing her hand. "How do you know how to put one on?"

"I've taken sex ed classes and besides, Amy showed me with a banana. She wanted Dave to model for us, but he thought you might get mad. OK…I'm having some problems here, so off with the sweats."

Randy sighed and began to laugh slightly as her hands fumbled around inside of his sweats. He knew that he had to stop their interlude once again, but it was actually kind of funny, watching Paris pretend to know what she was doing, and her hands were tickling him, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But he had to maintain his integrity. He refused to take her virginity on a bet, and she was just going to have to understand.

"Paris, wai…Paris, stop!" Randy exclaimed as he jumped off the bed and made an attempt to straighten his sweats. Running his hands through his hair and then, placing them on his hips, he tried to look at Paris, but found that he couldn't meet her gaze.

"What, Randy!" Paris shouted, sitting up on the bed. "What is it this time? The light isn't quite right or it's too cold in here or that picture on the wall is crooked? What's the excuse this time?"

"And exactly what is the goddamn rush, Paris?" Randy shot back, incredulous that she was being so rude. "Seeing you act like this sure as hell contradicts that whole blushing virgin routine!"

"When have I ever acted like a blushing virgin?" Paris demanded. "I've been all over you for weeks, but now it all makes sense. I knew that's what it was all about!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You started acting weird right after I told you I was a virgin. I should have known it would be a turnoff for a guy like you!" She grabbed her T-shirt and began pulling it on.

"It's not a turnoff!" Randy snapped. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean…a guy like me?"

"You tell me, Mr. Legend Killer!" Paris yelled, jumping off the bed and attempting to walk away.

"Just a goddamn minute!" Randy exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Look, this bullshit has gone on long enough. There's something I have to tell you, OK? Paul and I…"

"I don't care, OK?" Paris spat. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say! Look, Randy, I understand if you're not into me…that's painfully clear. But hey, it's cool. I mean, there's plenty of other fish in the sea. But thanks so much for leading me on and wasting my time!"

Randy sighed, trying to control his anger. Why wouldn't she listen to him? "Jesus, I am into you! Can't you see that I'm trying to tell you something important here? Do you have to act like such a bitch?"

"Unfortunately for you, that's not your concern anymore," she replied, her voice calm and icy. "Goodbye, Randy…I wish I could say it's been fun, but I guess we'll never know, right?" With that, she turned and headed toward the bathroom.

"Paris, wait!" Randy shouted, grabbing her arm. Paris yanked her arm away and pushed him, causing him to stub his foot on the wall.

"Shit! Goddamn it, Paris…come back!"

But she had already walked into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. Out of sheer frustration and self-loathing, Randy slammed his fist into the wall twice, feeling as if his knuckles would explode on contact.

"Fuck!" he screamed, grabbing his hand as pain coursed through his arm. "Motherfucker!"

Paris listened to his tirade for several moments, her face pressed against the door, tears flowing freely. She hoped he wasn't totally trashing her room, but she didn't really blame him for being mad. After all, she had just broken up with him, even if he did deserve it. Maybe she should have listened to him. She couldn't imagine what he wanted to tell her that was so important. Probably just more excuses. Finally, she heard him leave through the hallway entrance, slamming the door behind him. Tentatively, she peeked out of the bathroom and sprinted across the room to put the deadbolt on the door. She wasn't afraid—she knew Randy would never hurt her. She just didn't want to talk to him…not now anyway. She needed to go somewhere and relax, clear her head. Maybe she could sneak into one of those football parties inconspicuously and have a couple drinks before going to bed. She quickly slipped on a denim miniskirt and a T-shirt before exiting barefoot through the hall entrance. Just as she was closing the door, the adjoining door to Dave and Paul's room opened and Randy stepped into the room.

"Paris, I…" he began, but looking around the room, he noticed that she was gone. The bathroom door was open so she wasn't still in there. Dejected, Randy took his bags into the other room, figuring it would be best if he just crashed on the couch in Dave's room for the night. Maybe when she came back and had calmed down, then they could talk.

Meanwhile, Paris wandered around to a couple of room parties, doing a shot here and there with some football players. She didn't notice Paul and Dave at one of the parties, but Paul definitely saw her. After about an hour, Paris headed back to her room, crying slightly and drinking a bottle of Cristal that she had stolen from one of the parties. She stopped briefly, catching sight of her reflection in a hallway mirror.

"Fuck him!" she shouted angrily at her image, not really caring if anyone heard her. "If he doesn't want me, I'm sure there's someone who does. Maybe Rob Van Dam's still interested!"

"Do you always yell at yourself?" a voice behind her interrupted.

Paris turned, a bit unsteadily, to see Paul standing there, regarding her with a mixture of amusement and skepticism.

"Paul…what are you doing here?"

"I saw you at the party," he remarked, approaching her. "You looked like you needed a friend." Absently, he reached over and wiped a tear off her cheek.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Paris replied tipsily.

"Well, that's fine and all, but let me give you some friendly advice." He grabbed the champagne bottle away from her. "First off, this stuff might be 300 a bottle, but it's still sewage coming up. And second, I don't care how pissed at Randy you are, don't be talking about Rob Van Dam. He doesn't deserve you." He smiled a friendly smile.

"Can I have my champagne back? I swear, Paul, I'm not that drunk…I'm just pissed."

"That would be a no," Paul said, moving the bottle out of her reach. "Come on, I'm walking you to your room…no arguments."

Paul put his huge arm around her tiny waist for support, even though she didn't really need it, and escorted her to her room. Paris unlocked the door and entered, followed by Paul, who went into the bathroom and dumped the champagne down the sink. As he crossed the room, he saw Paris standing at the window with her back to him, staring at the falling snowflakes. He quietly locked the door adjoining Paris' room to his and Dave's room. He knew that if he was going to seal the deal, this was probably his last chance and he didn't want to be disturbed. In his mind, Paris was a sure thing and he knew enough about women to know that she wasn't that drunk…it only seemed that way because she was being emotional. Unexpectedly, a floorboard creaked and Paris turned to look at him. He could vaguely make out tears streaming down her cheeks from the dim light of the one lamp she had turned on.

"Thanks for looking out for me…I'm OK, really," she told him, sniffling slightly and wiping her face with her hand. "I was actually looking for you."

"Why?"

"I wanted to give this back." She handed him the ankle bracelet. "I was such a bitch today, I don't deserve such a nice gift…gratuity or not."

Paul shook his head. "Keep it. I was an ass and I'm sorry, OK?"

"OK," Paris replied, confused. Earlier today, he had acted like a total dick and now, he was apologizing, something she knew Paul didn't do very often. She laid the bracelet on the table and sat down on her bed.

"Paris, what the hell is going on?" Paul inquired, sitting next to her. "Why are you so upset?"

Paris sighed. "I can't get laid so I'm trying to get drunk, but I'm not doing a very good job at that either."

Paul chuckled. "What do you mean you can't get laid?"

"Randy!"

"What about Randy?"

"He won't have sex with me."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, it's true. I literally threw myself at him tonight and he still turned me down. Not that it's a big surprise…he's been doing it for weeks."

Paul stroked his chin thoughtfully, intrigued at this recent turn of events. So that's what all the tension was about. Apparently, Randy was refusing to have sex with Paris because he was under some deluded notion that he could wait for just the right moment to tell her about the bet. Paul had suspected for some time that this was The Legend Killer's reasoning for not passing go, but he never had any proof…until now. This was just the opportunity he was waiting for, so he decided to feel out the waters.

"Well, I'm sure if you and Randy talk things out…"

"There is no me and Randy…I broke up with him."

Paul inhaled sharply. This was more serious than he thought.

"Are you sure you did the right thing?"

"Why would I want to be with someone who doesn't want me in the most intimate of ways?" Paris cried, tears in her eyes once again. If Randy's stinging rejection wasn't enough, now she was being forced to talk about it.

"So this is your final decision on the matter?"

"Yes, Regis, that's my final answer."

"Well, if you ask me, Randy's an idiot. He doesn't know what he's missing."

"Paul—stop! You're just saying that because I gave you…"

"I'm not just saying that because you gave me oral pleasure…I mean it. Orton should be down on his knees thanking God to have a girl like you." He paused for dramatic effect. "I know I would be."

"Would you stop?" Paris laughed. "You're Triple H…you can have any woman you want."

"You know that I want you," he replied boldly.

"I know but…"

Before she could finish her sentence, Paul leaned over and kissed her…a burning, lingering kiss, his tongue gently probing her mouth.

Paris was a bit stunned, but not entirely. She knew that Paul wanted her and she was definitely horny. If she wanted sex, it was highly unlikely that Paul would say no. But he didn't know her secret, that she was a virgin. Plus there was the matter of what her sleeping with Paul would do to Randy. He would be devastated…or would he? Maybe Randy didn't care about her as much she thought he did. Otherwise, why hadn't he come looking for her? Before she could contemplate any further, Paul broke the heated kiss.

"I'm sorry about that, Paris," he said, acting apologetic. "I should just go." He rose to leave.

"Paul…wait…" Paris stated, rising to follow him. "Don't go…I mean you can stay if you like. You can even kiss me again if you want." She put her hands on her hips and thrust her chest out, staring boldly at him.

"But you and Randy…"

"Like I said, there is no me and Randy."

Smirking, Paul grabbed Paris around the waist and pulled her against him, his lips meeting hers once again. Paris linked her arms around his neck and thrust her body upward against his, shivering slightly as his hands ran along her bare thighs, pushing her skirt up higher. Paul turned and without releasing Paris or her lips, lowered himself onto the bed, pulling her on top of him. Paris straddled his waist, her skirt riding even higher as they continued to kiss. His hands trailed over her ass and gripped the bottom of her T-shirt, which he pulled over her head and tossed it on the floor. Paris broke the kiss and tugging at Paul's T-shirt, she pulled it out of his waistband and pushed it over his head, her nails lightly raking his chest. Paul sat up, balancing her on his lap as he gripped her back with one hand and popped her bra open with the other. Paris shrugged her bra off of her shoulders, pressing her breasts into his face and gripping his shoulders, as he grasped her breasts, placing kisses across her chest and lightly tracing his tongue around her nipples. He paused slightly, his teeth tugging at the silver barbell in her left nipple. Paris yelped, pain mixing with pleasure, and slapped his arm playfully as he kissed her once again, his hands erotically massaging her sensitive breasts.

"Did that hurt?" he murmured, his lips trailing along her neck.

"A little, but I liked it," she whispered.

"What else do you like?" he urged, his hand sliding under her skirt.

"I think you know me well enough to know what I like, Paul," Paris teased, trying to mask her inexperience. She'd never done this before so she didn't really know what she liked.

Paul smirked as he reclined onto the bed and rolled Paris onto her back in one swift motion. Kneeling next to her, he unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it off, his hands brushing over her silky legs as he removed the garment. Then, he maneuvered one of her legs around him so that he was positioned between her thighs. With a quick snap, he jerked her black lace thong off and threw the torn piece of material across the room. Paris sighed with exasperation.

"That's two pairs of my underwear you've ruined now! And those were Victoria's Secret!"

"I'll buy you more," Paul said as he placed fiery kisses all along her legs and on the insides of her thighs.

"That's not the point," she teased.

"Then, just don't wear any," Paul advised, grinning wickedly.

Paris was about to continue arguing jovially with him when suddenly, he pulled her legs over his shoulders and began teasing her in the most torturous of ways. Paris arched her back and grabbed the headboard, trying to keep her mind from spinning out of control with pleasure. There were tiny little explosions going off in her brain and she could have swore if Paul touched her one more time, she was going to faint. God, he was good at that…too good actually. She could have stayed there for hours just letting him pleasure her, but Paul had other plans.

Rising up, he climbed off the bed and quickly shed his pants and his underwear. Paris watched the whole scene, silently admiring his attributes and admitting to herself that he was quite the impressive male specimen in more ways than one. Paul noticed her staring and smirking arrogantly, lowered himself on top of her once again. Paris locked one of her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her as he hungrily kissed her neck, tracing his tongue over her damp skin, his teeth biting gently, leaving small but obvious marks of ownership. Paul smiled against Paris' neck…if Orton didn't believe that he had sealed the deal, here were the marks to prove it.

Paris ran her hands through his silky hair and trailed her nails down his muscular back, scratching him gently at first, and then, more aggressively. Paul growled in his throat each time her nails sank in and responded by biting her neck just a little harder, marking her more vividly. On the surface, Paul was the epitome of cold, calculated self-control, but underneath it all, he felt like he was going to explode if he had to go one more minute without being inside of her. The blood was hammering so loudly in his brain that he almost thought he was going to pass out and the tightening in his groin was practically unbearable. He gasped audibly, feeling Paris' soft fingertips graze lightly along the length of his cock. If she continued to do that, there was no way he could hold it together. He had wanted this for so long, it almost seemed anti-climactic that it was actually happening.

Gently removing her hands from below his waist, he positioned her arms above her head, one of his hands pinning both of her wrists while his other hand teased and probed between her legs. It was obvious that she was ready for him and any further foreplay at this point was inconsequential. Suddenly, he was distracted by a tiny voice in the back of his mind, niggling him with guilt. That was ridiculous…he never felt guilty about anything. He pushed the thoughts away, but they kept coming back as he imagined how Randy Orton was going to feel when he found out about this. Paul had delivered a lot of sledgehammer shots and even more Pedigrees in his career, but nothing could compare to the pain Randy was going to feel. And then, there was Paris. He didn't really have anything against her, other than when she had gotten uppity with him on her first night when this whole thing had started. She was a nice enough girl, maybe a little dumb, but nice, and undoubtedly sexy. This is stupid, Paul told himself, closing his eyes against the annoying voice of his conscience—you are The Game, you are The Cerebral Assassin, you are that damn good, not to mention that damn smart. This was a competition and he was damned if he was going to lose to Randy Orton or Batista. Paris was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it hadn't been her, it would have been some other girl. But would Paul have tried this hard if it had been some other girl? What was it about Paris? He didn't love her…that was for sure, but there was something…something intangible, distant, unattainable. He had to admit, jaded as he was that she had been somewhat of an obsession, and now, it was all going to pay off in more ways than one.

"Paris, are you sure about this?" Paul whispered, kicking himself for hesitating.

Paris nodded, her eyes closed, her head slightly turned to the side.

"Look at me," Paul commanded, gripping her chin.

Paris blinked, her eyelids fluttering, her stormy violet eyes meeting his. Paul smiled and staring down at her, he snapped his hips, thrusting his entire length into her. Paris' eyes got wide and she sank her nails into his back as Paul clamped his mouth down on hers, drowning out the scream that he could tell was coming. Paris arched her back, meeting his thrust, trying to alleviate the pain. She felt as if she were being torn in half. Paul released her lips as she gasped for air, tears springing to her eyes. He was still for a moment, allowing her to adjust, her body starting to relax as it accommodated his size.

"Are you OK?" he murmured quietly.

"Paul, it hurts," she gasped. "It really hurts…"

"Ssh, only for a minute," he assured her. He was confused. Why was she in so much pain? He had been with many women and none had ever reacted like this. Of course, she was young. Maybe she was just inexperienced and he had shocked her by doing it so suddenly and roughly. "We'll take it slow, OK?" he promised as he began to gently move inside of her.

Paris nodded, relaxing slightly as she felt Paul begin to thrust slowly in and out of her. It still hurt at first, but then, to her surprise, it started to feel really good. It didn't take long before she had fallen into rhythm with him, meeting his thrusts so that he touched her in just the right place. Paul was amazed at how quickly she got into sync with him. Even more amazing was how good it felt being inside of her. She was so tight and she felt like velvet, he had to fight hard to maintain control over the situation. If he had his way, this wasn't going to be over quickly. He intended on giving her a proper and thorough shagging, maybe all night long if that's what it took.

Gripping her tightly, Paul rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, staying inside of her the entire time. Running his hands through her soft blond hair, he smiled, kissing her gently, biting her lower lip. Paris wiggled her hips slightly, resting her knees on the bed. What was she supposed to do now?

"Why did you stop?" she asked quietly.

Paul chuckled. "Oh, we're not done yet…not by a long shot. I just thought you could be on top for a while."

Paris flushed. How could she tell him that she didn't have the slightest idea of what to do?

"Paul, I…I…"

"Yes?"

"What do I do?"

Paul blinked. What did she mean by that? His original theory that she might not be as experienced as he thought came wandering back into his mind. Maybe she only knew missionary position and everything else was a novelty.

"Just do what feels good," he told her, pushing her shoulders upward so that she was sitting up, straddling him.

Paris moved her hips in a small circle, still not knowing what to do. Paul sighed with amusement and gripping her thighs, he began to guide her body up and down, thrusting his hips as she came down, causing her to yelp slightly. Before long, Paris caught on, riding him like a pro, much to his delight. He reached up and played with her breasts, pulling gently on her nipple piercing as she continued working him over. He watched with pleasure as she pushed herself to the limit, leaning as far back as she felt comfortable, making sure she wasn't hurting him, allowing him to touch her where obviously no one had been able to reach before. He smirked as her body twitched and quivered, her skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as he felt her tighten around him before she collapsed on his chest, breathing heavily.

Paul stroked her hair and back, listening to her breathing return to normal. She seemed so utterly spent that he didn't have the heart to tell her that it was far from over. Twining his hand in her hair, he gently pulled her head up off of his chest to capture her swollen lips in a torrid kiss. Rolling her off of him, Paul knelt between her legs and gripping her thighs, thrust inside of her once again. Paris gasped, her body still recovering from the previous exertions. Paul smirked down at her as she locked her ankles around his waist and arched her hips towards him. He was beginning to think maybe he created a monster. She was so passionate, so uninhibited—he could hardly wait to take her to the edge once again.

Feeling as if he couldn't last much longer, Paul pulled out of her and reaching back, he gripped her ankles and flipped her onto her stomach. He grabbed a pillow and pushed it under her hips before thrusting into her once again. Paris shrieked slightly before propping herself up on her elbows and meeting Paul's every thrust. She couldn't believe the things he was doing to her and the way he was making her body respond. She hated to admit that she never wanted this to end and she couldn't wait to do it with him again. Too bad she was leaving in the morning.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Paul wound his hand in her hair and gently but insistently pulled her upward even more. She rose up to her knees as his hands grasped her breasts from behind. After what seemed like forever, he released her breasts and gripped her hips as he continued to slam relentlessly into her. Paul knew that it wasn't going to take much more for him to come. He noted with regret that he hadn't even thought about protection. As he contemplated how to handle the situation, he was distracted by a movement at the window. He remembered that Paris had been standing there earlier, looking at the snow, and in their haste, they hadn't bothered to shut the drapes. Since the lamp was on in the room and it was dark outside, Paul couldn't see anything, but he knew that he had sensed some sort of motion. Just his luck, a passing car illuminated the window, allowing Paul to make out the huge frame of his partner, Dave Batista. Briefly, the two men's eyes met and Paul smirked evilly before Dave turned and walked away. Not exactly who he was hoping would see them, but just about as good, Paul thought, his mind going back to the task at hand.

"Paul, don't stop!" Paris ordered, causing him to realize that he had slowed his thrusts to practically nothing.

"Sorry," he breathed, resuming the tempo once again.

"Oh God, Paul!" Paris cried as he gripped her shoulders and pulled her even harder against him.

"Paris," Paul whispered, leaning forward and cupping her breasts. "Baby, are you using any protection?"

"No," she gasped. Honestly, she hadn't even thought about it. Now, it was a glaring reality. What if she got pregnant? Or worse?

"Don't worry…I'll take care of it," he told her, quickening his pace for several minutes until Paris felt as if she were going to explode. Suddenly, he pulled out of her and crushing her against him, he tensed and shuddered violently, coming on her back.

Paris gasped as they both collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. Paul rolled onto his back, his chest rising and falling as he tried to get his breathing to return to normal. Paris laid her face against the bed, trying to stop her head from spinning. Her body was reeling with pleasure and although the climax had been a little disappointing for her, it was actually the only way he could have solved their predicament of no protection. Paris wasn't too put out. He had pleasured her numerous times before that, so it wasn't as if she didn't get anything out of it. She was baffled that he hadn't realized that she had been a virgin, but remembering what Amanda had told her, she wasn't all that surprised. She wasn't kidding herself that Paul loved her…she knew better. It had just been sex…no strings attached for either of them. Still, she couldn't help but feel that her first time should have been a little more meaningful.

Feeling the bed move, she turned her head to see Paul walking into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and he emerged with a towel, which he handed to her before pulling on his underwear and pants. As she cleaned herself up, Paris noticed that the mood had become a little tense. Paul seemed distracted and suddenly, as thoughts of Randy popped into her head, she started to feel not so good about herself and what she had just done.

"Are you leaving?" Paris asked as Paul pulled his T-shirt over his head and tucked it into his pants.

"Yeah, I've got about a million things to do tonight." One of those things would be finding Randy and collecting his money.

"Oh."

"That was just what I needed to relax…thanks, Paris."

Paris snorted derisively at his lack of emotion. She didn't expect outpourings of love and affection, but this was ridiculous. "That's it? Just like that?"

Paul could tell from her tone that she was hurt. Although he didn't really care, he tried to act empathetic. "Come on, baby…I thought you understood how it was, how I am. Besides, you're in love with Randy, not me."

"I…I just thought…" She stopped, trying to fight the tears over the realization that she had just been used.

"Look, Paris, I'm really not the commitment type. That's what you have Randy for. I don't love you, any more than you love me."

"But everyone's going to think that I…that you…that Vince…the whole diva thing…

Paul laughed softly. "What? That you got made a diva because you slept with Triple H?" He continued chuckling. "You actually think that people care about such trivial nonsense?"

"If it's about me, Sarah will find some way to twist it around."

"Forget about Sarah. Vince made you a diva because you're hot and you have talent. I can attest to that." He smirked lasciviously.

Paris glared at him witheringly. "Oh, very funny, Paul."

"Come on, Paris…you played the game and you won. What are you so pissed off about?"

"What do you mean I won?"

"You're gonna be a diva. Do you know how many girls actually get the chance to do that?"

"Hmm, let me think…does that include the ones that sleep with you or just the ones that suck your dick?"

Paul grinned wickedly. "I suppose that didn't hurt your chances, did it?"

"No, just with Randy," Paris replied bitterly, as she climbed off the bed and wrapped the towel around her body. "I'm gonna take a shower. Thanks for everything, Paul. I guess I'll see you in couple months."

"You're welcome, Paris," Paul replied, smoothly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "And thank you…I had a great time tonight. I think you did, too."

Paris rolled her eyes at his arrogance as he smirked and turned to leave. Just as he was about to open the door, Paris halted his exit.

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there any reason why tonight has to be discussed at all?"

He smiled, Triple H-like, understanding her concern. "Baby, I don't kiss and tell. I'm Triple H…I don't have to."

With that, he left, closing the door behind him, as Paris threw the towel in the bathroom and struggled into her robe. She sniffled slightly, still feeling as if she had been used to a certain degree. She examined the towel and the bed, puzzled as to why there hadn't been any blood. However, the lack of blood didn't mean there was a lack of pain. She could barely walk and with each step, the burning between her legs intensified. I just need a long, hot bath, Paris decided, hoping in vain that Randy wouldn't find out. Of course, she wasn't an idiot. She knew he would find out. She just hoped that she was long gone in OVW before her indiscretions became fodder for the locker room gossip mills. She was about to retreat into the bathroom when there was a knock at the door. God, what now? Opening the door, she saw Dave Batista standing before her.

"Hey, Dave," she greeted, somewhat distracted.

"Paris, are you OK?"

She glanced at him questioningly and for a brief moment, something in his eyes told her that he knew. She didn't know how, but he knew.

"I'm fine…why do you ask?"

Dave sighed before stepping into the room and closing the door.

"I saw you with Paul…through the window."

Paris' mouth fell open as she stared at him in shock. She tried to speak, but only ended up hanging her head in shame.

"How much did you see?" she asked.

"Enough."

"Did Randy…?"

"I don't think so. I can't find him anywhere."

"Oh God, Dave, what have I done?"

Paris buried her face in her hands, crying piteously. Dave stepped toward her and pulled her into his huge arms for a brotherly hug.

"Unfortunately, you gave your virginity to the last person on Earth who deserved it…not to make you feel any worse or anything."

Paris looked up, stunned. "How did you know that I was…?"

"Come on, Paris…who's my best friend and who do I date?"

"But Randy…why did he keep pushing me away? Do you know?"

"Listen, Paris, there's a lot you don't know about what happened here tonight, but you need to talk to Randy. What he has to tell you is gonna hurt, but you have to trust me…he was only trying to protect you. He only had the best intentions."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't, but you have to listen to Randy. Trust me on this one, OK?"

Paris nodded, as did Dave.

"Paris, can I ask you something personal?" the Monster of Evolution went on.

"I guess."

"He didn't hurt you, did he? Paul, I mean."

Paris laughed bitterly. Dave flinched at how hollow her laughter sounded.

"No, not physically anyway. I mean, it hurt and everything, but it's supposed to, right?"

"At first, I guess," Dave replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, but then, it felt good," she continued, blushing. "It was how he acted afterwards."

Dave snorted. "I can just imagine. Let me guess—wham, bam, thank you ma'am? Or did he even bother to say thank you?"

Paris' mouth formed a tiny O at Dave's harsh words and inexplicably, she began to cry again.

"I'm sorry, Paris. I didn't mean to sound like a dick."

Paris laughed once again, that bitter, hollow sound that Dave wished he had never heard. "It's OK, Dave. Trust me, you're not the dick." Absently, she wiped her eyes.

Dave jammed his hands in his pockets, not sure what else to say. He knew he had to find Orton and get this mess under control before people started finding out about it and the shit hit the proverbial fan. It was going to be bad, no matter what, but maybe if Paris and Randy were brutally honest with each other and got everything out in the open, the damage could be minimal. Dave seriously doubted this, but there was no harm in hoping.

"Listen, Paris, I want you to go into that bathroom and take a hot bath, OK? Get yourself…cleaned up and I'll go find Randy so you guys can talk."

Shrugging, Dave crossed the room and opened the adjoining door to Evolution's suite. Pausing, he turned back and stopped Paris as she was entering the bathroom.

"Paris?"

"Yeah?"

"Not to be a jerk or anything, but you might want to cover your neck."

Paris blinked and glanced around the corner into the bathroom mirror. Her entire neck was covered with hickeys and bite marks. Shit, she thought.

"Thanks, Dave. Go find Randy, OK?"

She quietly closed the bathroom door as Evolution's Enforcer nodded and walked through the adjoining door into his suite.

**Please read and review. As Jim Morrison would say, the end is near. But fear not, there will be more. I'm anxious to hear what you think so review soon, or E-mail me…I love to get E-mails. Hugs…**

**-Evilution**


	24. The YouKnowWhat Hits the Fan

Chapter 24 – The You-Know-What Hits the Fan

By Evilution

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people or places mentioned in this story. I don't have any association with WWE, OVW, or any of the casinos in Las Vegas, other than I've gambled in some them before. Enjoy!

Dave Batista exited Paris' room and entered him and Paul Levesque's suite, his mind racing as to how he was going to break the news to his best friend, Randy Orton. He was momentarily distracted by the sound of the shower running and he didn't know which one of his teammates was currently in the room at that time. Swearing, he pulled the door shut, not noticing that it had caught on the carpet and hadn't closed all the way.

Suddenly, Randy Orton burst into the room, looking frantic and out of breath. Dave halted his nervous pacing to face his best friend.

"Dude, thank God you're back. I need to talk to you." Dave cocked his head toward Paul's room as he heard the shower turn off. Now that Randy was standing there before him, he knew that Paul was the one in the shower and he also knew that he didn't have a lot of time before the shit hit the fan.

"Dave, I'm freaking out here!" Randy exclaimed. "I gotta find Paris…do you know where she is?"

"Yeah, she's in her room, but Randy, there's something I…"

Dave never got to finish his sentence because at that moment, Paul sauntered into the room, wearing a pair of sweats, his hair damp from his shower and a cocky look on his face.

"Dave and Randy," he taunted. "Just the two losers I was hoping to run into."

"Why's that?" Randy asked, looking puzzled.

"Because you two fucks each owe me $100."

"Excuse me?" Randy said, glancing between Paul and Dave, trying to figure out what the hell Paul was talking about.

Paul shrugged. "Sorry to break this to you, Randy, but I won the bet."

"What!"

"Yeah, I nailed your little girlfriend not twenty minutes ago…right next door. I gotta tell you, man…you don't know what you're missing."

Dave closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the massive migraine he could feel coming on.

Randy stared at Paul, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. Then, out of nowhere, he started laughing.

"Yeah, right. You had me going there for a second, Paul. All I can say is in your dreams."

Paul chuckled. "No, Randy, in reality."

Randy snorted. "I don't believe you."

"No? Just ask Dave. Being the voyeur that he obviously is, he saw the whole thing."

"I didn't see the whole thing!" Dave shot back as Randy stared at him in disbelief. "Sorry, man…I was trying to tell you."

Randy glanced back and forth between Paul and Dave, his heart feeling as if someone had crushed it. He was so completely heartbroken, shocked, and angry that he couldn't even speak. Dave kept looking at him, worried that he was going to have a complete meltdown, his eyes urging Randy to say something, anything. Randy couldn't even bring himself to hit Paul, which was what he really wanted to do, because he was too stunned to move. Don't lose it, Orton, he told himself. Hold it together or he wins again. Randy closed his eyes, trying to block out the images that kept popping into his head, each of them streaked with red from his anger. How in the fuck could Paris do this to him? He swallowed hard, his heart in his throat. All those weeks of protecting Paris had backfired. He hurt her feelings by pushing her away, rejecting her, and she ran right to Paul. So much for good intentions, he told himself bitterly. At that moment, Randy decided that he wasn't going to be hurt again. Without skipping a beat, he turned it off like a light switch, ice water flowing through his veins. Slowly and deliberately, he removed his wallet and casually threw a $100 bill on the table.

"Congratulations, Paul…I guess the better man won."  
"I don't get it, man," Paul replied, not quite as triumphant as he should have been.

"What?"

"When I ran into Paris in the hallway, she was pissed. She was out to get laid and that was the end of it. I don't even think it mattered that it was me. It could have been anyone and the result would have been the same. God knows you've had all these opportunities to win this bet…why didn't you take them? Aside from the bullshit about having feelings for her…what gives?"

Randy laughed derisively. "You mean you still don't get it?"

"Get what?"

Randy opened his mouth to verbally rip Paul a new asshole, but he never got the chance. Suddenly, the adjoining door flew open with a bang and Paris stomped into the room, wearing only a large towel from her bath, her violet eyes blazing. She completely ignored Dave and Paul, and walked right up to Randy, glaring at him with tears in her eyes.

"You son of bitch!" she screamed. "You made a bet with him over who could sleep with me first?"

Randy didn't answer. He was ashamed that she had heard the entire conversation, but he was too busy staring at the marks on her neck, reminders of her betrayal with Paul.

"Well?" Paris shouted when he didn't respond.

"Paris, baby…" Paul began.

"Shut up! Answer me, Randy!"

"Yes, I did, but…"

"How could you, Randy? I trusted you! God, I was in love with you!"

"Paris, I love you, too…it's…

"Oh, don't even say it!"

"It's true!" Randy exclaimed. "This whole thing happened on your first night here, when we all had that fight. It was just a joke, OK? Then, I got to know you, but Paul…"

"Don't drag me into this, Orton."

"What do you mean, don't drag you into it?" Randy spat at Paul incredulously. "You're the one who wouldn't drop it even when you found out how I felt about her!"

"Because I never lose," Paul replied nonchalantly.

"So, Paul…tell me, how much did win on this bet?" Paris asked sarcastically.

"Baby…"

"I'm not your baby! How much?"

Paul sighed. "$100 from each of them." He pointed at Randy and Dave.

"Each?" Paris squealed, completely indignant. "Dave, you were in on this, too?"

"At first, yes," Dave tried to explain as he glared daggers at Paul. There was absolutely no reason why Paul had to tell her that he was involved. "But I backed out the first night when I found out Randy liked you and I got to know Amy."

Paris laughed bitterly. "I guess I should be flattered…my going rate was slightly more than a common Las Vegas whore! Thanks, guys."

"Paris, it's not like that," Randy said, touching her arm.

"Don't touch me! I'm leaving for OVW tomorrow and I never want to speak to any of you ever again! You're the biggest group of macho assholes I've ever met! Evolution, my ass! You guys are barely scraping the bottom of the food chain as far as I'm concerned!"

"Don't forget who got you that job, Princess," Paul reminded her.

"How could I, Paul?" Paris shot back. "After all, I've paid you so well for it!"

Randy ran his hands through his hair, suddenly angry. She was being just a bit self-righteous, considering she was the one who fucked Paul.

"Yeah, what about that, Paris?" Randy shouted. "Look, I know this is all my fault! I fucked up, OK? I've done everything in my power to protect you and avoid a scene just like this one! Why the hell do you think I've been pushing you away? Do you think I've enjoyed the last three weeks of cold showers and intimate moments with my right hand? I don't think so! But look what I get for trying to be the good guy, for falling in love. I'm the one being crucified because I wouldn't take your virginity on a bet…a stupid, fucking bet!"

"Virginity?" Paul interjected, stunned. He looked at Paris, who rolled her eyes at him.

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Paul?" Dave mocked.

"I was stupid, Paris!" Randy went on, his anger beyond control at this point. "But how the fuck do you think this makes me feel? I'm freaking crazy about you, but we have one little fight and you go fuck Paul? Was it worth it? Was he everything you hoped your first time would be? Did you think it would help you in OVW that you fucked Triple H? Too bad everyone's gonna know you spread your legs to become a diva!"

Dave and even Paul flinched at Randy's harsh words, but before they could step in, Paris reared back and slapped Randy across the face as hard as she could.

"Fuck you!" she shouted, her hand still stinging, the resonating crack still echoing in the room.

Randy's blue eyes were blazing and there was a red imprint of a hand on his smooth cheek. On his best day, Paris could have given Shawn Michaels a run for his money. Never in his entire 23 years of existence did Randy ever want to hit a woman as badly as he wanted to at that moment. Paris was way out of line, but he held his temper, remembering his father's words that a real man would never hit a lady, even though he didn't think Paris was much of a lady at that point.

Dave sensed his friend's rage and quickly stepped between Randy and Paris, hoping to defuse the situation. He couldn't believe that Randy was being so mean and frankly, Dave thought that his teammate more than deserved a slap for his last comment, but he held his tongue.

"OK, let's just all chill out here, OK?" the Enforcer stated, trying to gently put his hands on Paris' shoulders and move her away from Randy, but Paris pushed him away.

"Fuck you, too!" she shouted. Dave stared at her in disbelief that she was so angry at him.

Turning to leave, Paris stopped in front of Paul. She glared up into his smirking face as she gripped her towel tightly around her. Her eyes were like violet chips of ice.

"And especially, fuck you!" she stated with finality.

Before Paul could respond, Randy interrupted the exchange, casting his ex-girlfriend a sardonic, Legend Killer smirk.

"Excuse me, Paris," Randy mocked, his voice cruel and bitter. "But didn't you already play that game on your back next door?"

"Orton!" Dave shouted, stunned at his friend's rudeness. Even Paul seemed shocked by the young Evolutionary's cutting words, even if they were true.

"Yeah, I guess I did, Randy," Paris replied quietly, tears in her eyes. "Except I wasn't on my back the whole time!"

"Paris, that's enough," Paul warned, as Dave continued to massage his temples, the migraine getting worse with each passing word.

"Oh, please, don't hold back on my account, Paris!" Randy urged sarcastically, stepping towards her as Dave put a gentle but firm hand on his chest. "I'm sure I'll get to hear all about what a great piece of ass you are over the next couple weeks! Me and the rest of the locker room, right, Paul?"

"Orton, come on…" Paul interrupted, his teammate's jealous immaturity becoming tedious.

"Be sure you ask him how good I am at giving head because trust me, he knows that, too!" Paris shouted.

Randy lunged toward her, his fingers itching to wrap around her silly, little neck. With great effort, he was restrained by Dave, who desperately wished he could shoot himself between the eyes rather than endure another minute of this drama.

"As fun as this is, sweetheart, you need to stop! I think you've hurt him enough," Paul whispered, his voice low and dangerous, but Paris only wanted to egg it on.

"Checkmate and game over, you asshole!" she screamed at Randy as Paul wrapped his arm around her waist and carried her into her room closing the door behind him.

"I never want to see you again, you fucking slut!" Randy shouted at the door, trying to break free from Dave.

"Knock it off!" Dave yelled, shoving him. "Don't say shit you're gonna regret!"

"The only thing I regret is fucking meeting her!" Randy exploded.

"You know you don't mean that," Dave told him, at which point Randy's shoulders slumped as he tried to catch his breath and stop his head from spinning, the adrenaline wearing off.

"Dave, I…I don't know what to say…I don't know what to do…I…I…fuck!" Randy stammered as he sank down on the bed, putting his head between his knees, trying to stop himself from throwing up.

Dave went to comfort him, but they were interrupted by Paul, who walked through the adjoining door and slammed it loudly.

"Real smooth, Orton," the Game stated angrily. "I guess you just know all the right things to say to a girl, don't you? I can't imagine she won't be knocking your door down now." He snorted mirthlessly. "Regardless of what she did, she didn't deserve to be treated like that!"

"Oh, look who decided to play knight in shining armor," Randy shouted, rising from the bed. "Like you didn't have this whole thing planned, like this isn't what you wanted from the beginning!"

"You're outta line, Orton," Paul stated simply.

"What are you gonna do, Paul? Kick my ass?" Randy taunted. "Maybe if you kick my ass, Paris will suck your dick again…is that what you're hoping?"

Paul smirked. "If I wanted Paris to suck my dick, all I'd have to do is ask."

"Is that so?" Randy replied, his voice low and icy.

"That's enough," Dave said, stepping between them. His head was pounding and if either one of them looked at him wrong, he was in the frame of mind to flatten them. All he wanted to do was go crawl into bed with Amy and forget that this entire night had ever happened.

"All isn't lost, Orton," Paul went on. "She might take you back if you beg…a lot."

Randy's lips twisted into a sneer as he pushed Dave out of the way and got right in Paul's face. "This is all your fucking fault!" he said quietly, his voice warning. "If you ever say another word about her to me again or if you ever touch her again and I find out about it, I'll kill you! You hear me, Paul…I'll fucking kill you! Do you understand?"

Dave smirked knowingly. He knew that despite everything, Randy still loved her. He knew that the Legend Killer had realized that this whole thing was a grand scheme, orchestrated by Paul, the master manipulator. Paris' only sin was that she was weak and naïve. Not the best qualities to possess when dealing with someone like Paul. What she had done was wrong, but not unforgivable, considering the circumstances. He just hoped that once Randy worked through his hurt and anger that he could see that, too.

"Are you threatening me?" Paul taunted.

"Did I stutter?" Randy reiterated, enunciating each word, making sure The Game understood that he wasn't fucking around.

Paul laughed arrogantly. "What's eating you worse, Orton? That someone got there before you or that it was me?"

Randy was silent, his jaw twitching with impotent fury. "No," he replied flatly. "Just that it was you."

With that, he grabbed his gym back and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Fuck! I'm gonna go talk to him," Dave said, hoping he could catch Randy before his friend did something stupid.

"Not so fast, big man…you still owe me $100."

Dave stared at Paul in disbelief. He couldn't believe how egotistical the man was. "I owe you shit! I backed out, remember?"

"That doesn't mean you still don't have to pay."

Dave shook his head and removing his wallet, threw a $100 bill at Paul. "You know what? You're unbelievable! Don't you even feel a little bit bad about the virginity thing?"

Paul scoffed. "Oh, that? If it hadn't been me, Dave, it would have been someone else."

"Yeah, it would've been Randy! It should've been Randy!"

"Hey, man, that's not my problem."

Dave snorted, suddenly angry. "Couldn't you even tell that she was? Did you even notice or are you that fucking insensitive?"

"What do you want me to say, Dave? Would I have done it differently if I had known? I don't know—maybe. But it's too late to worry about that now. Besides, she didn't act like any virgin I've ever known."

"What's that supposed to mean?" It irked Dave to hear Paul talk about Paris in that way. It was like someone was talking about his sister or something.

"She was hot, that's what it means," Paul stated casually. "She was horny and so was I…we fucked, end of story. God, crucify me for having sex. Are you jealous or something?"

"Do you even care that Paris' first time is ruined? That this is how she's always gonna remember sex?"

"Dave, come on…I didn't hurt her. If anything, I gave her a good rogering. If you ask me, she has nothing to complain about."

"That's not the point! She's always gonna remember that she lost her virginity on a bet to some jackass who doesn't give a shit about her!"

"Hey, that's not true! I got her the diva job, didn't I?"

Dave snorted. "Yeah, you did, Paul. And like she said, she paid you handsomely for it, didn't she?"

Paul exhaled impatiently. "What do you want me to do, cry you a river or something? Do you want me to lie and say that she wasn't a great piece of ass? Is that what you want? What do you want from me?"

Dave shook his head, looking the leader of Evolution up and down. "Nothing," he replied simply.

"That's all you have to say?"

Dave shrugged, laughing bitterly. "What else do you want me to say? I mean, you're just an ass, Paul."

With that, he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Paul waited to make sure Dave was really gone before turning and knocking on the adjoining door.

"Paris? Paris, open the door!" he called.

There was no answer.

"Come on, Paris…I know you're in there. If you're gonna make a career in the WWE, you're gonna have to see me again…it's inevitable."

"What the hell do you want now?" Paris shouted, flinging the door open. She was still angry over him carrying her into her room earlier and dumping her on the bed, ordering her not to move until she had calmed down.

"Look, baby, there's no reason to be like that, OK? We fucked…big deal. I was horny, you were horny and a little drunk…shit happens. Did we or did we not have fun?"

"You are such an arrogant ass!" she exclaimed.

That was twice in five minutes that someone had called him an ass and he wasn't sure he liked it. Nevertheless, he smirked egotistically.

"Yeah, that's true…I am but, come on, Paris…don't deny it. You enjoyed every minute of it, up until the part where you realized that Randy might find out."

"So what if I did enjoy it? That doesn't change what you did…you and Randy and Dave. Paul, you used me and then, collected money over it! Who does that?"

"Paris, I didn't use you any more than you used me," the Game explained smoothly. "Who was trying to drown their sorrows and forget about Randy? Who begged me not to go? Who begged me not to stop? Who didn't give a shit whether Randy found out or not? That was you…every step of the way, Princess."

"Yeah, because I was stupid enough to cheat on him…and with you of all people."

"You didn't cheat on him," Paul remarked slyly. "You guys were broke up, or did you lie to me about that, too?"

"We were broke up and what else did I lie to you about?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"

"You didn't ask, and besides, would it have mattered?"

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. "No, not really. It's pretty cool though…I've never broke in a virgin before."

Paris rolled her eyes in that annoying way that she knew he hated. "Somehow I find that hard to believe, jackass."

"Believe what you want, Paris," he mocked, fingering a wisp of her hair. "Forgive me for not realizing you were virgin. I've never had someone so inexperienced ride me like they were going for the top slot in the rodeo. Your technique is a little rough, but I'm sure with some practice, you'll clean up pretty good. I'll have to ask Adam Copeland to keep me informed."

"Fuck you!" Paris shouted as she slapped him across the face and slammed the door.

Paul rubbed his cheek, chuckling. "Maybe next time, we'll play rough, Paris."

Paris leaned against the door, tears stinging her eyes as she listened to his mocking laughter on the other side of the door. Utterly defeated, she climbed into bed and tried to cry herself to sleep.

Meanwhile, Dave went upstairs to Amy and Lisa's room, hoping that the raven-haired diva was out for the evening and he could talk to his girlfriend in private. He desperately hoped that Amy hadn't spoken to Paris yet and learned about his unfortunate involvement. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door.

"Hey," Amy greeted, opening the door and letting him in.

"Hey, babe," Dave sighed, sinking onto the bed and putting his head in his hands. There was no sign of Lisa, so he figured the coast was clear.

"Jeez, Dave, what's wrong?"

"The proverbial shit just hit the fan," the Enforcer replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Paris and Randy had another fight about the virginity thing."

"Oh, quel surprise," Amy mocked. "I don't get what his problem is. He should be flattered."

"He is, but there's more to it than that. That's why I'm here."

"OK, go on. Obviously, you need to get something off of your chest," she urged as she opened a can of soda.

"Paris fucked Paul tonight," Dave blurted out unexpectedly.

Amy spit soda across the room. "What!" she shouted, wiping soda off of her chin.

"Yep," Dave replied simply.

"She gave her virginity up to Paul?"

"Yep."

"Oh my God! What…wh…I don't even know what to say…I'm speechless."

"Imagine how I felt when I saw them."

"You saw them?"

"Yep. Trust me, she got a good shagging."

Amy was completely shocked. "What the hell…I mean, what the fuck…"

"Randy pushed her away again," Dave explained. "She got mad, she got drunk, and voila, there was Paul."

"How convenient."

"OK, there's more, sit down."

"Oh, goody…" Amy retorted with chagrin as she sat down next to her boyfriend.

"OK, remember the first night Paris was here, when she got in Paul's face and he tried to have her fired?"

"Yeah."

"Randy and Paul made a bet over who could nail her first."

Amy closed her eyes. How could anyone be so juvenile? "You've got to be shitting me?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm not shitting you."

"How could Randy do something like that? I thought he cared about her."

"He realized that about five minutes after he did it. Then, he found out she was a virgin and that's why he kept pushing her away."

Amy sighed. "Why didn't he just tell her the truth?"

"He didn't think that she trusted him enough to forgive him, but anything would have been better than this."

"God, I hope she used protection," the red-headed diva lamented.

"Oh, wait…there's more."

"Oh God…"

"I went to her room after I saw them and Paul had left. Well, Paris was kind of upset because it was pretty much wham, bam, thank you ma'am, so I went back to our room and waited for Randy."

"And…"

"I didn't even get a chance to break the news gently. Paul came strutting out of the bathroom and started in on the bet."

"Did Randy lose it?"

"No, he was too stunned to speak, but wait…there's more."

Amy closed her eyes, not sure she wanted to hear what was next.

"I accidentally left the adjoining door open and Paris heard the whole conversation. She freaked and then, Randy exploded on her."

Amy laughed ruefully. "This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"Wait…there's more. This is the part I really wanted to talk to you about. Please know that all of this shit happened before you and I were an item, before I decided to even pursue you…it all happened that first night."

"I don't like the sound of this."

Dave breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. "I was part of the bet, too, but I swear to God, Amy…I backed out right after Paris came to our locker room and apologized and I knew Randy liked her. I regretted it right after I agreed to do it. I don't even know why I did it because I've liked you for so long. I guess seeing you with Matt all the time just kind of got to me and I acted stupid. Please know that I never made a move on Paris or pursued her or anything. She's like a little sister to me."

Amy was shocked, but somehow, she knew that Dave Batista was telling her the truth. "Wow," she said simply.

"Please say you believe me."

"I believe you, Dave. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. And I forgive you…I know how it is when you're 'with the boys.'"

Dave wrapped his huge arms around her, capturing her lips in a kiss. "I'm so sorry," he apologized.

"Where's Paris now?" Amy asked with concern.

"Locked up in her room, probably crying or something. Can you believe that Paul actually made me pay him $100? He said that me backing out was like a forfeit so I still had to pay!"

"God, he's an asshole! Where's Randy?"

"I don't know," Dave shrugged. "Probably getting wasted or something. But he did take his work out bag with him, so maybe he went down to the hotel gym."

"You said he exploded at Paris? What was that about?"

"He was just mad," Dave stated. "She was crucifying him over the bet, but then, she turned around and fucked Paul. I mean, they're both at fault. Randy was pretty mean though. He called her a fucking slut."

Amy sighed. "Great, I better go talk to her. Why don't you go find Randy before he does something stupid? As if he and Paris could top tonight!"

"Ames, tell Paris I'm sorry," Dave said as they headed out the door. "I forgot to mention that she hates me, too."

"She knows about your involvement?"

"Oh yeah…Paul just had to let that slip."

"Of course, he did," Amy replied with sarcastic sweetness. "Shit…you go find Randy, I'll go talk to Paris…maybe you should wait until she gets to OVW and let her cool off a little, and then call her."

"That's a good idea. See you in a while?"

"After all this, I'm counting on it," Amy stated as she gave him a kiss and headed off towards Evolution's hotel room.

Dave walked off in the opposite direction, thankful that his girlfriend had understood. He went downstairs to the hotel gym, where he spotted Randy, punching the crap out of a punching bag. As he opened the door, he noticed that the only other person in the room was the gym attendant. He also noticed that Randy was sweating profusely and grunting with each punch. One of his knuckles was bleeding and Dave heard hard, pounding music in the background. As he approached, he could tell that it was Nickelback, one of Randy's favorite groups.

Dave could see Randy's biceps straining as he continued to hit the bag. Having heard enough of the depressing song, Dave approached his friend and gently touched his shoulder. Randy spun around, his fist cocked, ready to fight.

"Whoa…it's just me," Dave said, putting his hands up in concession.

Randy simply sighed and lowered his fist, switching off the music.

"You teach that punching bag a lesson?" Dave joked.

"I wish it was Paul's face," Randy declared through clenched teeth.

"I know, man."

"Did you talk to Paris?"

"No, I went to see Amy. I didn't want her to hear about my involvement from someone else."

"Yeah, wasn't that nice of Paul to slip that in?"

Dave snorted with disgust. "Typical."

"So was Amy mad?"

"No, she just thinks we were both pretty stupid." He laughed awkwardly, as did Randy.

"God, Dave, how could she do this to me?" Randy exploded, suddenly angry. "I love her so much! I was only trying to protect her and she goes and fucks Paul!"

The gym attendant glanced up warily at the raised voices and the profanity.

"Lower your voice, man," Dave urged, glancing apologetically at the attendant.

"Like I give a shit if anyone hears me," Randy shouted. "I'm pissed, OK?"

"I understand that you're pissed," Dave replied, his voice low. "But you don't really need this getting out. You want everyone to think that your girlfriend fucked Triple H so she could become a diva? I don't think so!"

"Yeah, well, maybe that is why she fucked him!"

"I know you don't mean that…any more than you meant those nasty things you said to her in the room."

Randy hung his head, somewhat ashamed. "I just wanted her to hurt as much as I am."

Dave put his hand on Randy's shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "I'm sorry to say this, bro, but I don't think she needs any help from you in that department. Come on…let's get out of here."

"Dave, wait…" Randy interjected, ripping the tape off of his wrists. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"You said you saw them, right? Paris and Paul?"

"I don't think I like where this conversation is heading," Dave stated.

"What were they doing?" Randy asked hesitantly.

"What do you mean…what were they doing?"

"When you saw them…be honest."

Dave shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "Come on, Randy, what do want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me what you saw," Randy went on, impatiently. "Trust me, I can handle the gory details."

Dave was upset. "Randy, I don't want to do this," he replied, walking away.

"Are you my friend or not?" Randy demanded, following him.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Dave shot back, spinning around. "Of course, I'm your friend."

"Then, tell me what you saw, goddamn it!"

"They were fucking, OK?" Dave shouted, angry and not caring who heard him. "She was bent over and he was doing her from behind! Are you happy now? Was that graphic enough for you or do you want full play by play on it? I could call King and JR if you need color commentary!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck me? You asked for it, pal!"

"I didn't ask you to be a smartass about it!"

"Yeah, well, was it really necessary for you to have a visual description?"

"Look, Dave, I gotta know one thing…"

"If it has to do with Paris and Paul having sex, I don't want to talk about it."

"Just tell me, did it look like she was enjoying it?"

"Oh, come on, Randy!"

"I mean it! It didn't look like he hurt her, did it?"

Dave sighed. "No, but if you'd seen her afterwards, you would have thought differently."

Randy's jaw twitched, a look of anguish fleeting across his face. "What am I gonna do, man?"

Dave shook his head. "Honestly, I think the best thing you can do is just give her some time. Let her go to OVW and cool off for a couple weeks…maybe then you can call her." He shrugged, not quite knowing if he said the right thing.

"God, this sucks," Randy breathed, his voice laced with emotion. "I freaking hate her for what she did, but the thought of losing her makes me want to…and especially to him. It just makes me mad. All of my fucking good intentions were for nothing."

Dave put a brotherly arm around Randy. "I know, man…let's go."

The two men exited the gym, failing to notice a silent figure that crept out of the shadows and approached the gym attendant's counter. Sarah watched Randy Orton and Dave Batista walk away, smirking nastily, as she leaned against the counter and smiled at the attendant, who was wearing a name tag that said 'Brian.'

"Excuse me…umm…Brian?" She leaned over the counter, giving him a generous eyeful of cleavage.

"Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?"

"I hate to be nosy," she began in a sweet and sugary voice. "But I hate to see a friend in trouble even more. You know those two guys that just left?"

"You mean Randy Orton and Batista?"

"Oh, you're a wrestling fan?" Sarah prompted, smiling.

Brian laughed. "Only since I was about ten."

"Well, I happen to work for the WWE…"

"Really? What do you do?"

"Oh, backstage production…executive stuff…it's all really technical, but that's beside the point. I'm actually very good friends with Randy and Dave and I couldn't help but notice that Randy seemed really upset about something. I hate to just go ask him because he's so closed off from the rest of us…you know, he doesn't like to share his feelings, but I'd really like to help. You didn't happen to hear anything, did you?" She shifted, giving him an even bigger eyeful.

"I'd like to help you," Brian replied regretfully. "But we have to respect our guests' privacy."

"Of course, you do," Sarah said smiling. "Thank you so much for all the extra towels." She discreetly slipped him a twenty dollar bill.

"Err…I didn't get your name," Brian remarked, pocketing the twenty.

Sarah smiled winningly. "It's Amanda. Amanda Jones."

"Um…Amanda, that's a pretty name. Are you really good friends with Randy Orton?"

"I grew up in St. Louis with him."

"Well, then, I guess it couldn't hurt to tell you…being that you only want to help."

"Oh, you're so sweet," Sarah commented. "Don't worry…I'll keep it on the QT."

"Well, he was all pissed off and pounding on that punching bag and then, Batista came in. I guess Randy's girlfriend cheated on him with some other dude."

Sarah's eyes grew wide with shock. "Oh my God, you're kidding! It's just not possible!"

"Well, if her name's Paris, then that's who they were talking about."

"God and she's a good friend of mine, too," Sarah went on with fake concern. "I never saw this coming. And Randy's just the sweetest boyfriend…I can't imagine who she'd cheat on him with."

Brian shrugged. "Some dude named Paul."

Sarah's eyes got even wider and her mouth formed a tiny O. Apparently, Brian didn't realize that Paul was Triple H's real name. Sarah smirked inwardly. She always suspected that Paris was a slut and now, the cat was out of the bag about how she became a diva.

"Wow, that's just tragic," she said, noticing that Brian was staring at her skeptically. "Gosh, Randy and Paris are like…the Ken and Barbie of WWE. I hope this Paul guy was worth it."

"From what I heard, he better hope he doesn't run into Orton any time soon," Brian remarked.

Sarah smirked once again. The idea of Randy kicking Triple H's ass was positively laughable. In her opinion, Randy was nothing more than a step above a rookie, still wet behind the ears.

"Well, I better be going. If I know Paris, she's gonna need all the friends she can get. Thanks for the info…keep it between us, OK?"

"Not a problem," Brian said, nodding. "Oh, Amanda…"

"Yeah?" Sarah replied, almost forgetting to answer.

"Maybe next time you're in town, we could go out or something?"

Sarah smiled a very fake smile. "That would be cool…let me give you my cell number." He handed her one of the gym's business cards and she quickly scrawled a number on it. Not hers, of course. Like she'd ever go out with this loser. She grinned evilly as she watched him memorize the OVW bitch, Tammy Petersen's number. Let that slut deal with it when he called.

"Hey, thanks. See ya around."

"Yeah, bye, Brad."

"It's Bri…" he began, but she was already gone, quickly off to start spreading the juicy gossip that she had just heard.

Meanwhile, Dave and Randy went back to their room. Paul was gone, probably to a club or something, and Amy was sitting on Dave's bed, watching TV. Randy threw his bag across the room and looked apologetically at Amy as if he expected her to rip him a new one.

"I'm gonna shower. You talk to Paris?"

"Yeah."

"How is she?"

"She's OK," Amy assured him. "I convinced her to get some sleep."

Randy nodded and disappeared, sulking into the bathroom.

Dave waited for the door to shut before joining the extreme diva on the bed. "So what did she say?" he asked.

"Nothing much. She just told me the whole story…it pretty much matched what you told me. She's really pissed at you guys, but I think she's more pissed at herself.

Dave nodded. "I'll probably call her tomorrow and apologize…you know, when she gets to Louisville."

"So you coming to my room?" Amy questioned.

"I probably better stay here. I don't think it's such a smart idea to leave Randy and Paul alone if you know what I mean."

Amy agreed. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Why don't you stay here?"

"Yeah, I could do that," the redhead stated, shrugging. "I'll go get my stuff…I'm sure Lisa won't mind."

She left and Dave began to relax, feeling that the nightmare was close to being over and hoping that Randy was asleep before Paul returned.

Next door, Paris was about to finally fall asleep when her cell phone rang insistently. Swearing, she climbed out of bed and grabbed the offending object. Her caller ID said 'Matt Hardy.' Great, what the hell did he want?"

"Hello?"

"Paris, its Amanda…my phone died so I'm using Matt's."

"Oh, hey…what's up?" Paris asked, trying to sound cheerful.

"Look, I know it's late, but I need to talk to you. Can I come over?"

Paris glanced at the clock, agonizing over how exhausted she was. "Sure, I'm in room…"

"I know the number…bye."

The phone clicked and Paris thought that it was very strange that Amanda hung up so abruptly. A few minutes later, there was a knock at her door. It was Amanda, standing there in her pajamas with her new red hair.

"Come on in," Paris greeted, opening the door.

"Thanks."

"So what's going on?" Paris asked, motioning for Amanda to sit down and then, joining her on the edge of the bed.

"Look, I just wanted to say that regardless of what's happened between us, I'm really happy for you and I'm really proud of you and I know you're gonna be the best diva…" She stopped, hesitating slightly.

"You really mean that?"

"Come on, Paris, you're my best friend," Amanda replied, obviously embarrassed by the emotion. "Of course, I mean it. And I suppose I should thank you, too, since I got your job and all."

Paris laughed. "Yeah, well, you need to get away from those ring people. They're kinda weird."

Amanda grinned. "You mean away from Sarah, right?"

"You said it…not me."

"Yeah, well, just when I think that's gonna happen, Derrick goes and quits, and she gets promoted to travel coordinator, too."

Paris snorted. "I wonder who she slept with to get that job."

"Funny you should mention that," Amanda went on, her tone a little strange. "That's why I came to see you."

"OK, go on…"

"Look, Paris, we've been best friends for years, right?"

"Right."

"And I think I know you pretty well, which is why this is so confusing and so bizarre…"

"Amanda, get to the point already!"

Amanda took a deep breath. "I hate to beat around the bush, so here goes, OK? Sarah is telling everyone that she heard Randy and Dave talking in the gym and that Randy broke up with you because you…fucked Triple H to become a diva! There…I said it!"

Paris was stunned that the secret was out so soon. "What!"

"Which part did you not understand?"

"I…I understood it…I just…didn't think people would be talking already. I mean…I hoped I was far away in OVW before…"

"You mean it's true?" Amanda exclaimed shocked.

"Well, partly, yes.

"So which part is true?"

Paris sighed. "I did have sex with Paul, but it wasn't to become a diva. Vince gave me the diva job last week. And no, Randy didn't break up with me…I broke up with him because he wouldn't have sex with me."

"I'm confused."

"OK, pay attention—Randy's been putting me off when it came to sex and I didn't know why. Well, we got into a big fight and I broke up with him. Then, I hooked up with Trip…with Paul."

"And?"

"And…I was in my room changing and I overheard the boys talking next door. Turns out Randy, Paul, and Dave had a bet over who could sleep with me first."

"What!"

"Yeah, apparently, they made it that first night when they all hated me, but Dave supposedly backed out so he could get with Amy and then, Randy started to like me and found out I was a virgin, so he was trying to 'protect' me."

"That's the most juvenile thing I've ever heard…I mean are we still in high school?"

"So anyway, Paul won the bet, passed go, collected $200…you get the picture. I overheard this bullshit and I had a complete meltdown. Then, Randy went off on me and said some really mean things, so we're pretty much over."

"God, Paris, I'm sorry. I mean…I thought Randy really loved you."

Paris sniffled, the tears starting once again. "I thought so, too. Maybe he still does, but…"

"But what, honey?"

"How could he ever find it in his heart to forgive me?"

"Forgive you? What about what he did?"

"I know, I know…it was stupid and immature, but I honestly believe that he was trying to protect me, that he didn't want to take my virginity on a bet. Why else would he not have sex with me? It all makes sense now."

"If you really believe that, why don't you talk to him?" Amanda urged.

"I just can't face him. I can't look him in the eye. We had one little fight and I ran and had sex with…with the devil himself."

"I'm sure Randy knows who's more responsible for that and it's not you!"

"But it is me, Amanda! I allowed it to happen and I…I…"

"You what?"

"I liked it!" Paris replied, ashamed.

Amanda laughed. "Well, of course, you liked it! He's Triple H, for Chris's sake! Even a little virgin like you has to know that you probably got fucked good and hard by one of the best. I could think of worse first times than with Triple H."

"God, I'm so embarrassed!"

Amanda continued to laugh. "I'm so glad I talked to you. This is a whole new perspective now."

"Stop laughing!" Paris cried.

"I'm sorry, it's just that…"

"What?"

"Look, you and Randy, the major stud, had a little misunderstanding because he was stupid and misguidedly trying to save his own skin and come out the hero. You broke up with him, you had hot, sweaty sex with Triple H, and then, you found out the truth. You and Randy both screwed up. I say it all evens out."

"Amanda, two wrongs don't make a right."

"I still think it's worth talking to him. You still love him…Randy, I mean."

"Is it that obvious?"

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Der! Come here, you little ho." She wrapped her arms around Paris in a huge hug and started to cry a little bit. "God, I'm gonna miss you. Just when we make up…now you're leaving."

"I'll be back," Paris said, crying also. "Besides, you have Matt Hardy to keep you occupied."

"And you're going to be playing house with his little brother…hmm, interesting." Amanda arched her eyebrows suggestively.

"Stop it! Jeff and I are gonna be partners…nothing more."

"It's probably for the best…Matt says he's gay anyways."

"Yeah, well, I'll believe Jeff's gay when I see it," Paris remarked, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, when he's banging you…that'll prove Matt wrong."

Paris laughed. "Would you stop?"

Amanda chuckled. "Hey, Paris, for what it's worth, Matt wanted me to tell you that he's sorry for what happened between you and him and Rob. He said you didn't deserve to be treated like that…he was just bitter about Amy and Dave and took it out on you. He's really a nice guy."

Paris smiled. "Well, if he likes you, he can't be all bad. Maybe he and I'll be friends some day."

"I'd like that. Speaking of Mr. Hardy…I better get back. I'll meet you in the lobby tomorrow…I want one last goodbye."

Amanda hugged her again and quickly left, brushing away tears…a mixture of happiness, sadness, and pride.

After Amanda left, Paris decided to take a walk because she was all wound up and couldn't sleep. She stopped at several rooms to say goodbye to Trish, Chris, Jay, Shawn, Jackie, and Amy. Amy was the only one who wasn't in her room, so Paris figured she must be next door in Evolution's room. Paris picked up her cell phone and called the red-headed diva. Within seconds, Amy knocked on the adjoining door and Paris let her in, glimpsing Randy asleep and Dave watching TV.

"I thought I told you to go to bed," Amy scolded.

"Couldn't sleep. Amanda came by."

"What did she want?" Amy inquired, her tone a bit snarky. Paris assumed that she was somewhat bitter over Amanda dating Matt and the new red hair.

"We kind of made up. She wanted to wish me luck and say goodbye and…

"And?" Amy prompted when Paris hesitated.

"And what?"

"You hesitated. Sounds like there was more to Amanda's visit than just goodbye."

"There was."

"Pray tell…"

Paris sighed. "Apparently, Sarah was in the gym and overheard Randy and Dave discussing tonight's drama. So now, tales of how I became a diva are well on their way to being blown out of proportion."

Amy rubbed her forehead. "God…of all people to be lurking around eavesdropping. Although, I have to admit, it probably would have been juicy gossip no matter who heard it."

"I'm just glad I'll be long gone when it hits the fan."

"Don't be so sure," Amy warned. "I hate to tell you this but Sarah probably still has ties to OVW."

"Thanks for the good news…"

"Don't sweat it…Tammy'll have your back, especially if it's against Sarah."

"I feel like a whore," Paris declared.

Amy sighed. "Look, Paris, sleeping with Paul isn't the worst thing in the world. It's not the smartest thing you've ever done, but definitely not the worst."

"I'll never be able to look at Randy again."

"Don't be silly…you just need time."

Paris snorted mirthlessly. "Time? All the time in the world could go by and I'd still be used merchandise. I'll always be the girl who fucked Triple H! Randy deserves better. Even if he did make that stupid bet, what I did was worse."

"Paris, Randy loves you. Someday you'll both see that. Just have faith, OK?"

Paris hugged her, smoothing her long, red hair. "I love you, Amy. You're the best friend I could ever have."

"I thought that was Amanda," Amy replied, sniffling.

Paris smiled, realizing that Amy wasn't jealous of Amanda and Matt, she was jealous of her and Amanda. "Amy, Amanda will always be my friend, but we're both moving on. She knows that as well as I do. I have a new best friend and her name is Amy Dumas."

"I'm gonna miss you, Paris," the extreme diva stated as she hugged Paris, trying to hide her tears.

"I'll be back," Paris promised. "And you'll visit me, right?"

"It's a date," Amy said, hooking pinkies with Paris. "Promise me one thing, K?"

"Anything."

"Dave's gonna call you…give him the benefit of the doubt, OK? I believe him…I know he wouldn't lie. He's not like Paul."

"For you, I've probably already forgiven him."

"I want you to get some sleep…you have a big day tomorrow."

"Yes, Mom."

"I'll be up to say goodbye in the morning," Amy told her as she tucked Paris under the covers in a maternal fashion.

Paris sniffled, wiping away a tear. "Don't. Let's just leave it like this. I don't want to see Randy."

"OK."

"Oh, Amy, would you give this to Paul for me?" She handed the redhead an envelope that contained the diamond anklet. "I couldn't keep it now…it makes me feel like an even bigger whore."

"What the hell is this?"

"He gave it to me this afternoon…I'd rather die than keep it now."

Amy put the anklet back in the envelope and stuck it in Paris' purse. "Keep it…you can pawn it if you need money."

"But…"

"It's the least the son of bitch owes you!"

Paris nodded and bid Amy goodnight as she watched the diva retreat through the adjoining door. She vowed one day that she would give the anklet back to Paul and tell him to his face exactly what she thought of him. His manipulation and her weakness had destroyed Randy and everything they had or could ever hope of having. There was no turning back. Despite what Amy had said, Paris knew that she could never give herself to Randy with a clear conscience. She had broken his heart and even if he had forgiven her, it would be a long time before she could ever forgive herself. She seriously thought about calling Danny and asking if she could come home, but she had already signed a contract and if she ran away, then that would just give Paul one more victory. She wasn't a quitter, but she had to be strong for what lay ahead of her. It wouldn't be easy, especially without Randy, but maybe someday, it would all work out.

Someday…that was her dream.

**Only one more chapter to go and then, it's sequel time. Hope you enjoyed it—sorry this one was so long. Please review. Many hugs…**

**---Evilution**


	25. Someday

Chapter 25 – Someday

By Evilution

Disclaimer: I only own Paris and Amanda…everyone else, I wish. I want to thank everyone who has supported this story. You guys are awesome and I hope you keep reading the sequel. You may be wondering why I've posted so much lately…it's because I finally got my own computer! Thank you to Kim and Howie, who have let me use their PCs all this time. Enjoy!

The next morning, Paris got up early to catch her flight to OVW. She made sure that she was quiet so as not to disturb anyone next door. The last thing she wanted to do was see Randy, or worse, Paul. She went down to the lobby and filled out her paperwork for her room comp. There were several crew members scurrying around, loading the trucks. She was almost home free when a familiar smarmy voice made her cringe. Sarah was training a new girl on the ring crew since Sarah had gotten Derrick's coordinator job and needed to be replaced on the ring crew.

"Usually you have to be down here early to get everything loaded up for the flight and…oh, look, Rebecca…that's Paris, the one I told you about."

Paris turned around just in time to catch the new girl, Rebecca, give Sarah a knowing look. She was short and skinny with long brown hair and cat-like eyes. Paris disliked her on sight.

"And what exactly did you tell her, Sarah?" Paris asked snarkily.

"Nothing that isn't common knowledge already," Sarah replied. "You know…how you slept with Triple H to become a diva?" She and Rebecca giggled.

"Jealous or something, Sarah?" a voice stated. Paris smiled to see Amanda and Matt walk up.

"Oh, Amanda, I didn't recognize you," Sarah said in a fake, sugary voice. "Since you're trying so hard to look like Lita and all…"

"I don't have to look like anyone," Amanda shot back. "Why don't you just leave her alone already?"

"Yeah, she's more than you'll ever be," Matt put in, moving to stand protectively next to Paris.

Paris gave him a strange look. This was new…Matt defending her. He smiled warmly and shrugged apologetically, their past drama seeming inconsequential at that point.

"We all know how she became a diva," Sarah went on, nastily.

"Yeah, and you're just jealous," Amanda declared. "Jealous that she's a diva and jealous that Triple H wouldn't give you the time of day."

"I don't have to have sex with Triple H to get what I want," Sarah replied haughtily.

"No, just Brock Lesnar," Paris quipped.

"Yeah, and lowly gym attendants so they'll give you dirt on other people," Amanda added.

"That's a lie!"

"Is it? Then, why did some guy named Brian, who works in the gym, call my room last night and thank me for the generous tip and remind me that the information I gave him about Randy Orton stayed on the QT? QT…isn't that an expression you like to use, Sarah? Funny, I don't recall ever being in the gym last night, but someone named Amanda Jones, who looked awfully like you was! Good thing he was smart enough to check the hotel directory after you gave him a disconnected number."

"Who cares how I got the info?" Sarah snapped. She didn't count on Tammy Petersen's phone number being disconnected or that Brian would check the hotel computer for an Amanda Jones. "We all know it's true. She's a slut and everyone knows it. Obviously, Triple H isn't very picky or he wouldn't have…"

"I wouldn't have what?" Paul demanded, walking up.

Sarah jumped, startled. "Umm…um…Paul, I didn't see you there…"

"Obviously, and its Mr. Levesque to you."

"Sorry, I…" Sarah continued to stammer.

"You know, maybe you should worry more about keeping your job than how other people got theirs."

"Y…You're right, P…Mr. Levesque. Let's go, Rebecca…I still have a lot to show you."

Amanda, Matt, and Paul all shook their heads with disgust as they watched Sarah scurry off like the rat she was. Paris, however, was slightly miffed. The last thing she wanted was for Paul to defend her.

"I don't need you to defend me," Paris stated as Paul maneuvered her off to the side of the front desk.

He chuckled. "Like I don't know that. It's the least I could do after…"

"After you used me and humiliated me? Not to mention, ruining my relationship with Randy."

"I wasn't alone on that bed, Paris…remember that."

"Whatever."

"Look, I don't want to get into a big debate in the middle of a hotel lobby, so why don't we…"

"Forget it," Paris interrupted, knowing that he was going to ask her to go talk. "Besides, I have a plane to catch." She picked up her bags and began walking toward the door.

"Hey, if you don't want to talk to me…fine, but at least, take this. It's a letter that explains some things, but don't open it until you get to OVW."

"Paul, I…"

But before she could tell him exactly what he could do with his letter, Randy dashed into the lobby, wearing nothing but his boxers. Several people stared, including the hotel manager, who was behind the desk. The Legend Killer was out of breath and didn't seem to care that he was making a spectacle of himself. He was followed by Amy and Dave, who were also out of breath and wearing their pajamas. Paul used the distraction to slip the letter into a side pocket of Paris' bag.

"Paris! Thank God I caught you!" Randy exclaimed.

"Randy! What the…Oh, God…I have to go."

"No, wait!" He looked up and glared at Paul, who was standing next to Paris. Paul had the good grace to put his hands up in concession and back away, not wanting any part of The Legend Killer in this particular frame of mind. Randy grabbed Paris' shoulders. "Paris, you can't leave like this! Please, take a later flight so we can talk!"

"We have nothing to talk about, Randy," she stated plainly. Little did he know, but she had been up all night agonizing over what had happened. She was still angry about the bet, but it wasn't unforgivable. She was more consumed with self-loathing for betraying Randy with Paul.

"God…yes we do!" Randy told her. "I don't care about anything that happened last night. Paris, I love you and I don't want to lose you."

Paul snorted, causing Randy and Dave to both glare at him with contempt. Amy. Amanda, and Matt, as well as everyone else in the lobby, were completely enthralled with the ensuing drama of a seemingly tragic love story.

Paris shook her head, tears streaming down her face. God, how could he even stand to look at her, let alone touch her? "No, you don't love me, Randy. How could you after what I did? Besides, your true love is Evolution…the image, the lifestyle, everything."

"Screw Evolution!" Randy shouted, much to Paul's displeasure. Paris' eyes got wide as Randy got down on his knees and grabbed her hand. "Please, Paris, don't go…not without talking this out."

"Randy, get up!" Paris ordered, glancing around with embarrassment.

"No! If I have to humiliate myself as badly as I humiliated you, I will. If that's what it takes to prove I love you…"

"Randy…"

"What do I have to do, Paris? I'm on my freaking knees in a hotel lobby in my underwear, for Christ's sake! What more do you want?"

Paris tried to stop the tears flowing freely down her face, but it was no use. "I…I want…you to forget about me. I can't do this! I…I can't…I have to go!"

"Paris, no…"

"I'm sorry, Randy…it's too late." She pulled away from him and walked briskly towards the door. "Goodbye everyone…I'll be back soon. Ames, call me, OK?"

She flung the door open and jumped into the cab as the driver loaded her luggage into the trunk. She was still engulfed in heart-wrenching sobs, even as the cab pulled away from the hotel.

Inside, Randy's shoulders slumped dejectedly as Dave helped him up and Amy tried to console him

"I've lost her," the Legend Killer stated sadly.

"Just give it time, bro," Dave replied.

"Yeah, she just needs time. She loves you, Randy…I know she does," Amy assured him.

"You know, Orton, maybe this for the best," Paul added as Dave and Amy turned to glare at him. "Maybe now, you can get your head out of your ass and start focusing on Evolution, instead of busting your balls trying to impress Paris. She really isn't worth the hassle if you ask me."

Before the Cerebral Assassin could say another word, Randy turned and landed a hard right on his jaw, knocking his team leader to the floor. Paul was shocked that Randy would hit him, especially in public. He touched his lip gingerly, noticing that it was bleeding and began to rise to answer the challenge, but something in Randy's manner stopped him.

"Like I said last night, if you ever say another word about her…about Paris, the woman I love…ever again, I swear to God, Paul, I'll fucking kill you!"

With that, he walked away, followed closely by Amy and Dave, who were surprised when Matt and Amanda bid them both a friendly goodbye. Maybe it was time for new beginnings…for everyone.

Meanwhile, in the taxi, Paris was able to pull herself together and dry her tears before she reached the airport. She thanked the driver and gave him a generous tip for putting up with her misery. She boarded her flight to Kentucky, the home of OVW, and daydreamed about what was awaiting her there. She looked back on the last month. If only she could take back last night. Now, she would always be the girl who slept with Triple H, for whatever reason…it didn't really matter. She was hopelessly in love with Randy, but it was also hopeless that it could ever work out. He had betrayed him in the worst possible way and now, she had to forget about him. She had a new life ahead of her with new challenges to overcome, new friends to meet, new demons to exorcise… and perhaps, some old ones as well. She knew she would have to face Randy and Paul someday when she returned to the WWE. But it would be on her terms. She would be strong. She was no longer Paris Ocean, the scared little rich virgin from Las Vegas. She was about to become Nikki Midnight, extreme diva and manager of Jeff Hardy and Edge. She was no longer anyone's fool and it was no longer a simple life. Things always got complicated, sooner or later. But she was ready for anything that was thrown in front of her. And maybe… just maybe, she thought as she put one her headphones to drown out the roar of the plane only to be greeted with the sounds of Nickelback, someday she and Randy would find their way back to each other. Someday.

**The End?**


End file.
